


In Every Story

by BiJane



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU - no Machine, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Real World, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s02e16 Relevance, F/F, Fake Marriage, Ficlet Collection, Just wayyyy too many to tag ok let's leave it at that, One Shot Collection, Philosophy, Root is a little shit, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, episode s05e12 .exe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 211
Words: 169,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7293025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiJane/pseuds/BiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of various short ficlets and AUs based around Shoot and the idea of having the first words your soulmate says to you tattooed on your body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Kind of Enjoy This Sort of Thing

**Author's Note:**

> One fun plot idea is that someone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their body. I’m pretty much just going to have fun with that idea with Shoot, in various fairly short AUs. Let me know if you have any requests, or want to see more of any particular AU. Have a few done, and a fair few ideas, but always open to more.  
> First up, canon! More or less.

Shaw had to admit, it did feel like the universe had a mildly twisted sense of humour. She was looking for Michael’s CIA contact, and it turned out to be Veronica Sinclair. Shaw knew that name.

She’d had it on her arm for as long as she could remember.

Darkly amused, Shaw found the hotel room where they’d arranged to meet. She knocked. A few seconds later, it swung open.

“You must be Sam. Veronica Sinclair,” a brunette offered a hand.

It was about that instant Shaw knew she was lying.

She was one of the lucky ones, so people said. She’d known friends whose tattoos had been woefully generic: and most people just had to go on relying on blind luck. Most had no way to predict when they’d hear those fateful words.

Whereas her arm said, exactly, _you must be Sam. Veronica Sinclair_. She had a name: she knew who to look for. In a curious few free months, she tracked down every Veronica Sinclair in whatever country she found herself in.

She’d not expected much. She didn’t love, she didn’t expect much of a soulmate. It was morbid curiosity, more than anything: which poor fool was unlucky enough to be bonded to someone who couldn’t care back?

She hadn’t been very bothered when none of the Veronicas had tattoos matching her first words.

Why would she be? She wasn’t one of those soulmate-seekers she’d seen on the news.

But it did mean she’d recognize anyone called Veronica Sinclair. This wasn’t one of them. Shaw smiled, and didn’t say a word.

Given she needed to talk to the real Veronica, this couldn’t be good. She lashed out: punched. ‘Veronica’ stepped back, and ducked, looking mildly surprised.

Then there was a taser, and burning paralysis. Shaw slumped to the floor.

‘Veronica’ dragged her by her wrists, bringing her over to a chair. Shaw twitched, trying to shake off the paralysis the moment she came back to awareness.

“I read your file,” she was saying. “And I’m kinda a big fan, so I really don’t want to hurt you. I just need the name.”

Then she started explaining herself: something about a project called Northern Lights, something about leads. Shaw tuned it out. That sort of thing rarely interested her.

Part of her wondered though. It was moments like this she felt certain the universe had a sense of humour. Similar to her sense of humour too, for that matter. Whether that was worth anything, she couldn’t say.

But sooner or later she’d have to speak. Then, she’d know for sure. She wasn’t completely sure she wanted to.

Then ‘Veronica’ lifted up the iron, heating it all the way up. She bent over, almost straddling Shaw, a bizarrely endearing smile on her face. Still, her eyes gave Shaw a slight chill.

She ripped Shaw’s shirt open, ostensibly to give the iron better access. Still, she caught a glimpse of Shaw’s tattoo, curling over her heart, under her top. _You must be Sa-_

“So you’re going to tell me the name of his contact,” ‘Veronica’ said. She tilted her head, curiously.

She held the iron close to Shaw’s face: she could feel the heat emanating from it. Shaw couldn’t help a smirk.

“One of the things I left out of my file,” Shaw said. “I kind of enjoy this sort of thing.”

And _there_ , that near-imperceptible moment when not-Veronica’s eyes widened. She knew those words.

“I am so glad you said that,” ‘Veronica’ said, her beaming smile spreading until it lit up all of her face. “I do too.”

And then a phone rang, and the people with guns burst in, but all that was rote. Shaw never lost that smirk.

She’d never had a high opinion of soulmates, but this? Oh, this was going to be _fun_.


	2. You've Got to be Kidding me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root is a con artist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, the technicalities of a world with the soulmate-tattoos interest me as much as Shoot, so have one based on one of those ideas.  
> Basic AU, nothing special, just no ASIs. Just a bit of fun.

Con artist. Root liked that phrase: artist. It really was an art. There were classics, there were childish tricks everyone knew, and then there was modern art: the same old scams pulled off in brand new fashion.

She liked a little of both. Hers was the oldest scam in the book, but with a new edge.

People never showed off their tattoos. It was meant to be a private thing: something known only to the bearer, and whoever they ended up sharing their life with.

Root had barely looked at hers. _You’ve got to be kidding me_. She heard it a lot, mostly in exasperation once her victims figured things out, but never as the first words from someone.

And honestly, she didn’t really expect to. Her line of work didn’t go well with soulmates.

Everyone kept their tattoos secret, from most people. They always shared it with close friends though: even the most reluctant, the most cynical, were pressured into it. Everyone was curious about the idea, at the very least.

Which meant there were records. Chat logs, email correspondences: just the kind of thing Root could work with.

People would do anything for a soulmate. Once they met them, they’d surrender money, wealth… They never thought they’d be betrayed by their perfect match.

Root had her tattoo surgically removed. Several people did. Her current target was one such person: wealthy businesswoman Sameen Shaw, more of a challenge than most. She wouldn’t be so enamoured by the idea of a soulmate that she’d immediately give up.

Root did like to challenge herself, every now and again.

And an old chat log revealed that Miss Shaw’s soulmate’s first words would be a nice, casual ‘Has anyone ever said your hair looks like it’s hugging your face?’ Root did have to agree with the sentiment: not quite how she’d phrase it, but the loose strands she wore either side of her face could give that impression.

It was less embarrassing than some of the lines she’d had to deliver. It was a good one, too: distinctive, meaning her target would have to accept Root as genuine. 

Time things just right. A casual, ‘accidental’ bump into the target on the street. Then deliver the line casually. Hook, line…

And if the line wasn’t enough, Root had the advantage of blank skin where her tattoo should be. It was an old magicians’ trick: she taped a pen nib to her thumb, and had practised enough that she could write whatever they said to her as she went through the motions of unbuttoning her top.

That way, she’d have said their line, and they’d think they’d said her line. It worked well: most marks only knew her for the short term anyway.

Bump. Root chuckled, glancing up in a semblance of apology. Then she tilted her head, curiously: “Has anyone ever said your hair looks like it’s hugging your face?”

Sameen blinked: raised her eyebrows. Recognition.

…Sinker.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, flatly.

_Fuck_.


	3. If Found, Return to Root

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root is a little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure a lot of people could figure out a way to abuse the soulmate tattoo system. Personally I’d never start any conversation (no change there), and as soon as I heard my tattoo, respond with some sports result, or anything that could be bet on, to try and make them rich. I put way too much thought into this stuff.  
> Another basic no ASI AU. 
> 
> Coming up: at least one fic of Root getting philosophical, and another fic in the Machine-less AU we glimpsed in the show which is a story that got well and truly out of control.

It was a cliché brief encounter: or would’ve been, if they hadn’t known what to listen for. Root was taking the subway to work, Shaw enjoying her leave.

Root was sitting back, idly reading. It wasn’t a particularly involving book, but she needed to do something to occupy her time on the train ride. She had her legs crossed, stretched out in front of her just slightly.

“Excuse me, mind if I get past?” a talk, dark-haired woman said, trying to walk down the aisle.

Root pulled her legs back. She didn’t glance up, even though she knew those words. First things her soulmate would say to her: it wasn’t the most generic phrase she’d seen, but it was up there. She’d heard it several dozen times.

“If found, return to Root,” Root said, absently. It was her instinctive reaction. She never really thought about it.

She was only aware she said it, the moment the stranger punched her face. Root blinked, lowering her book, and looking up.

“Seriously?!” the stranger said.

Root was being glared at. She bit back a chuckle.

“ _Why_?” the stranger said. “I thought there’d at least be a reason I had that tattooed on me, some kind of context, but no, you just said it. You just had to-”

“Root,” she said, offering a hand. “Hey soulmate.”

“Shaw,” the stranger said, and hit Root’s hand away. “And no. You don’t get to call me that, until you tell me why.”

“Thought it’d be funny,” Root said: shrugged.

People were staring. Shaw glared for a few seconds more before she took notice, and switched her gaze to the person beside Root. Mildly terrified, they got to their feet and hurried off: Shaw sat beside Root.

She exhaled heavily. Playfully affectionate, Root rested a hand on her leg: Shaw grabbed it, not lifting it off, but squeezing it rather tightly.

“You thought it’d be _funny_ ,” she whispered furiously. “To tell everyone who’s ever seen it to return me to you at the earliest possible convenience, like some stray cat. Really?”

“It was that or ‘Property of Root,’” Root said, “I was torn. Would you have preferred that, sweetie?”

“ _No_ ,” Shaw said.

“Pity, it was tempting,” Root said. “So, your place or mine?”

Shaw stared.

“What? Not every day you meet your soulmate,” Root said, purposefully lingering on the last word.

“Have you not noticed the fact I am seriously pissed at you?”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Root said: smiled. “Why’d you think I asked? This is going to be fun.”

A pause. Shaw’s grip on Root’s hand tightened: this time, more than causing pain, ensuring Root’s hand wouldn’t go anywhere else.

Shaw was shaking her head, but chuckling at the same time. Irritation had given way to reluctant amusement.

“Fine,” Shaw said: rolled her eyes. “Fine. But we’re getting matching tattoos.”


	4. One Caramel Macchiato Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw's a barista. Root is Root.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because who doesn’t love a good old fashioned coffee shop AU? Featuring philosophical Root.

Shaw had always known she was going to be a barista at some point in her life. That was why she opted for med school: for no purpose other than to try and spite the concept of destiny.

_One caramel macchiato please_ was tattooed over her heart. She’d tried the drink once: it hadn’t been to her taste. Still, the tattoo promised someone would order it from her someday, so she did her utmost to never work as a barista, on principle.

It didn’t quite work out. Med school needed money, she had to pay for it somehow, so she’d picked up a part time job.

She had mixed feelings on the idea of a soulmate. She wasn’t particularly sure she could love anyone: and she knew some aromantics whose soulmate was platonic, but they could generally be recognized by the colour of their tattoo.

Hers, however, indicated a more classical soulmate. She didn’t necessarily like the idea of the universe making up her mind for her.

But then, that was the advantage of being a barista. She met a dozen potential soulmates a day.

“One caramel macchiato.”

“One caramel macchiato coming up.”

She feigned interest and enthusiasm, while dully going through the same routine. It got tedious. After a few days she stopped even looking at the faces of the people who made that particular order.

“Caramel macchiato please.”

“One caramel macchiato coming up.”

She kept her tattoo covered at work, for obvious reason. Enough creeps tried hitting on her, she didn’t want to offer any encouragement.

Just the occasional broken finger. A few went better, depending on the person, there had been some potentially nice people. For the most part though, it was just a quick snap.

“One caramel macchiato please.”

“One caramel macchiato coming up.”

“Thank you,” the customer said. “What time do you get off?”

Shaw glanced up, appraising the woman curiously. Long brown hair, a face that was either playful or dangerous (Shaw couldn’t quite work out which), and a rather charming smile. Well, Shaw had certainly seen worse.

“Three,” she said.

“I’ll be waiting,” the woman said, and glanced at Shaw’s nametag: “Sameen.”

“Sam.”

“Root,” the customer said.

“What kind of a name is Root?”

“Need me to spell it?”

“I think I can manage.”

By three, Root was still sat on her stool by the window. She seemed as much interested in the free wi-fi as she was in her drink: Shaw didn’t think she’d seen her look up from her laptop since she’d sat down.

Well, until exactly three o’clock. Then she looked up, to see Shaw stepping out from behind the till. She beckoned.

“You like this with all your baristas?” Shaw said, sitting down.

“Only the cute ones,” Root said.

“Subtle.”

“You don’t strike me as the sort of person who likes beating around the bush,” Root said. “And I take it you’re not the type to only pursue a soulmate, right?”

Shaw shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well, if it helps, you could be mine,” Root said. She tugged the side of her top down: _One caramel macchiato coming up_. “Not many people are born knowing their favourite drink. Has its uses.”

Shaw stared for a moment, then chuckled.

“Bit generic,” she said.

“I like it that way,” Root said. “Let me guess, yours is ‘Hi, I’m Soully McMate at 69 hearteyes boulevard or something.”

“Not exactly,” Shaw said. “’One caramel macchiato please.’ Hear it a few times a day.”

“So I could be yours,” Root said: beamed.

“So could a hundred other people,” Shaw said. “Just as any barista could be yours.”

“Like I said, I like it that way,” Root said. “Way I see it, the people with the really niche phrases are unlucky. They have everything all planned out for them. If I order no other drink, then mine could be anyone: I get a choice.”

“All for the low, low price of having very bored tastebuds,” Shaw said.

“Don’t knock the macchiato,” Root said, faux-offended. “But I like that idea. That it’s not about destiny, or determinism: that it could be anyone who says the right words.”

“You’re a lot more metaphysical than most people we get,” Shaw said.

“I could fall back on innuendo, if you’d prefer,” Root said. “Haven’t even mentioned the fact that this is the time you get off.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. It was an annoying line, one she’d heard too many times, but Root did somehow bring a charm to it.

“Not sure which I prefer,” Shaw said.

“Both it is, then,” Root said.

“Just so long as you’re not expecting some soulmate,” Shaw said. “No way I can promise that.”

“That’s why I like the freedom of these,” Root said. She reached over, brushing her fingers over Shaw’s chest, where the tattoo would be: “There’s still the challenge. Like a game. You don’t know for sure, so you have to work it out, and end up liked. Much more fun, don’t you think?”

“You’re putting a lot of thought into a tattoo of a drink order,” Shaw said.

“You don’t like thinking about things?”

“Sure I do,” Shaw said. “I’m at med school, I have to be able to consider things like that. But there’s a time and a place.”

“Med school, huh?” Root said. “You like playing doctor?”

Shaw glared.

“I did say I’d do both,” Root said. “So, what do you say, want to give it a go?”

“Sure.”

“Thank god,” Root said, and pushed her macchiato away with an expression of distaste. “You were right. Can get really bored of these.”


	5. Bad Code 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Machine was never made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first request for an AU I had was for the Machine-less AU we glimpsed in the show. I'd already started something similar, so here it is!  
> However, this particular story got completely out of control, so enjoy a multi-chapter entry. Bit different and plottier than a couple of the others, and general warnings for the show proper apply.   
> Enjoy!

Shaw had thought she was up for promotion when she’d been invited back. Well, that or a bullet in the head. She was prepared for either.

Instead, she’d been taken behind the scenes: shown Research. Apparently she’d proven herself: and regardless, they figured she could better carry out her duties if she had more accurate intelligence.

A chat with a white screen later, and she was left waiting around for a decision to be made. It seemed a bullet wasn’t outside the realms of possibility.

“Hear you’ve been remarkably proficient at dealing with bad code,” a voice behind her.

Shaw jumped, as though struck by lightning.

When she was six, she’d cut at her chest: left scar tissue over the tattoo to render it unreadable. She’d never liked the idea of soulmates. She hadn’t forgotten the words, but she never expected to deal with them.

She’d steered clear of computers for that very reason. Bad code, it was a computing term: so she’d dropped IT as soon as she could, and never stuck around in class. She’d first picked medicine, then the military, as a profession purposefully to steer clear of anything programming-related.

Her tattoo had only gotten more damaged over time. Bullet wounds, the occasional burn, some shrapnel… Barely a letter could be made out.

She’d wanted to forget that phrase, but she’d never been able to. ‘Hear you’ve been remarkably proficient at dealing with bad code.’ She’d not expected to run into anything like that phrase here.

Shaw turned and nodded, mutely.

“So, you’re the candidate,” the woman said.

Shaw shrugged.

“The new interface,” the woman said. “Last one was killed in action. Thrown into more dangerous situations, but you get an advantage. It’s a mixed blessing, but we figure you’re well-trained enough. Hasn’t it been explained to you yet?”

Shaw shrugged again. There were a lot of questions she wanted to ask.

“Well, it will be,” a pause. “You’re talkative, huh?”

Anything she said might confirm that she was this woman’s… Shaw didn’t want to deal with that. She never really had.

John Greer left the meeting room. Shaw straightened: she knew he seemed to be in charge of the operation. As far as she could tell, he was the one she’d called Control.

“Well, see you later,” the woman said, returning to a workstation.

Shaw still said nothing. She waited, watched the woman leave, and watched Greer approach.

“Excellent news,” he said. “You’ve been accepted as suitable for the role of analog interface.”

“Which means?”

“You won’t need a human partner on missions any more,” Greer said. “Instead you will be accompanied by something far, far greater. It will all become clear, I assure you. Come with me.”

She followed him. After a few seconds, despite herself, she spoke.

“Who was that?” she said.

“Hm?” Greer turned: then remembered. “Ah, yes, you met our own Miss Groves. Quite promising, in my opinion.”

He opened the door. Shaw followed him into the meeting room: projected onto the far wall was a white screen, not unlike the one Shaw had spoken with earlier. She’d assumed someone was talking to her through it.

>: _Sameen Shaw_

Greer went to the block of drawers near the wall, pulling a small earpiece out of one. He returned, and offered it to Shaw.

_> : Put it in_

_> : Now_

Uncertainly, Shaw took the earpiece. As soon as she slid it into her ear, there was a beeping sound. Then:

_Can you hear me?_ A digitized voice said.

“Uh, yes?” Shaw said, uncertainly.

_> : Sameen Shaw_

_> : I am Samaritan_


	6. Bad Code 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I'll try to get these up faster because if you're following a ficlet collection I doubt you'll want to wait ages for one story to be completed. At least this way I have more time to write the other entries.

It had taken a little getting used to, but Shaw had always adapted quickly. She preferred to run on her own instincts, rather than relying always on another’s input. Then again, with all she’d heard Samaritan saw, she knew intellectually she wouldn’t be in much danger.

Well, so long as the ASI thought her valuable.

It was just a matter of overwriting instincts honed over years of combat. Not easy, but not impossible.

By the feel of it, her missions were of less importance. At least, they were less about terrorism, more about Samaritan. She didn’t care: she could follows orders just fine.

After three weeks, she’d proven her loyalty. Her earpiece had been removed, and she’d received an implant meant to give her permanent access to Samaritan’s voice. That, and it could hear her, even if she was out of range of any audio receiver: her voice travelled along the bones in her head to the implant.

Occasionally she saw the one Greer had called Miss Groves around Research. She kept her distance. Samaritan no doubt noticed: if it knew why, it didn’t say anything.

They didn’t really have much to do with each other. Root dealt with information and overseeing, Shaw usually worked in the field. There was rarely overlap.

_New target_ , Samaritan’s voice grated. _Boardroom 2A_.

Listening to it was quite an experience. It was unlike hearing a normal voice: its source was physically embedded in the bones and nerves of her ear. Greer called it the voice of God, reverberating and filling up her head with the slightest utterance.

She was never that philosophical. She just listened, and went to the suggested boardroom.

Like most rooms, it was fitted with a projector and screen displaying what she’d come to know was Samaritan’s main interface. Greer stood by it, Miss Groves sat at the table. No one else was there.

“Miss Shaw,” Greer said, “You have a new mission: one of the utmost importance.”

Shaw glanced sideways, eyes briefly skating over Miss Groves. Shaw merely nodded, and tilted her head to silently ask for elaboration.

Instead of replying, Greer turned to face the board. Images flashed up, each lasting only a handful of seconds: a bearded man in a hospital, a short-haired man in glasses by his bedside, a funeral, a library with an advanced-looking computer.

_> : Arthur Claypool_

_> : He has shared dangerous information_

_> : potentially catastrophic to my system_

_> : with a man he used to know. _

_> : Find and erase all trace_

_> : of any pertaining to me_

_> : and kill the man who heard:_

_> : Harold Finch_

The words faded for a moment: then a photo of the same short-haired man reappeared, surrounded by a red triangle.

“How did we let that kind of information fall into the hands of someone who’d share it?” Miss Groves said.

“Arthur Claypool suffered from a brain tumour,” Greer said, “He shared facts he should not have. He would not otherwise have been a security risk.”

“So?” Root said.

“A streak of sentimentality, I’m afraid,” Greer said. “Samaritan is the only one of its kind: Arthur Claypool created Samaritan: he is the only man ever to have created an artificial superintelligence. It was calculated that the potential gain should he resume work was worth the potential risk of a secret being leaked.”

Miss Groves’ eyes widened, just slightly. She seemed immediately intrigued by the idea of the man behind the ASI.

_> : He is dead now_

_> : I saw to it_

_> : The threat is Harold Finch_

“Mr Finch appears to have some knowledge of us,” Greer said. “He is remaining in surveillance black-spots: Samaritan cannot track him. We’ve given this task to you. Both of you.”

Shaw glanced towards Samaritan’s screen, sharply. It usually had such good judgement.

“Miss Shaw, Samantha Groves. Miss Groves, Sameen Shaw,” Greer said.

‘Samantha’ Groves stood up, smiling, and offered a hand to Shaw.

“Call me Root,” she said.


	7. Bad Code 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw is Samaritan's analog interface. It will end badly for some people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3, the plottiness continues, with a few of the questions asked in last chapter's comments answered. Well, hopefully.  
> Samaritan is disturbingly interesting to write.

“This is a bad idea.”

She was in a cheap motel with Root on the edge of a surveillance black-spot an unknown figure had been seen entering. No identification had been made on the figure, but they had the correct proportions to be Harold Finch. It was a starting point, at least.

 _It is not_ Samaritan said, _What have you seen that I have not?_

“It’s her,” Shaw said. “I can’t work with her.”

_Why?_

“It’s complicated, ok?” Shaw said.

 _She is your soulmate_.

Shaw stiffened.

She was talking into a mirror: Root was out picking up snacks, meaning this was the only time Shaw could talk aloud and converse with the implant in her head.

Still, it was easier to talk to some other figure, so she’d gone to the bathroom, and begun addressing her reflection.

“Maybe,” Shaw said.

 _There is a home video of you as a child before the words were removed from your chest. There is a 0.43% probability that anyone else would use the same phrase she used upon meeting you_.

“It might be no one,” Shaw said. “I don’t care. I’m not interested in having a soulmate, I just don’t want her to think I’m hers. You care about efficiency, right? This could ruin that.”

 _I trust you to prioritize correctly. Your personal life is not as important as the mission_.

Well, they could be agreed on that.

_Her skills are of use. Work with her. Speak, or do not. What matters is the mission._

“Fine,” Shaw said: exhaled heavily. “Just note it for future reference. Much easier to work alongside someone I can talk to.”

_You can talk. You will talk, if it becomes necessary._

“No,” Shaw said. “I’m no one’s soulmate. If I have no first words to her, I can’t be hers.”

Which wasn’t technically true: those unable to talk had their first thought upon seeing their soulmate inscribed their soulmate’s skin. Root would never be able to confirm that one way or another though, so it didn’t matter.

Samaritan said nothing. Instead, a low ringing began. Shaw tensed, feeling it build up, until it was leaving an ache, the bones of her skull vibrating at the sound. She gripped the sink, gritting her teeth, and waiting for it to pass.

It was Samaritan’s preferred method of warning. Shaw knew she could take pain, but it was a good reminder that Samaritan would always be in her head.

“Ok,” Shaw said. “I get it. If it’s necessary. Not before.”

 _Acceptable_.

Trust a machine to not understand much about soulmates. It had no body to be tattooed, and no peer to be matched with. Equally, it had no feeling.

No wonder it picked Shaw as an interface: someone who thought similarly to it.

Root returned not long after. Shaw nodded curtly: gave no sign she’d conversed with Samaritan. Root always became so fascinated when she spotted Shaw hearing the ASI she called God.

They worked together a week. Shaw had to admit, Samaritan was right about Root.

She was more at home with computers, but when there was no digital footprint to track she was adept at finding leads other ways.

One of the first thing Shaw saw her do was pretend to be a scared and afraid woman, hurrying into a corner shop in one of the surveillance black spots. Her hope had been to gauge what the shopkeeper might have provided to Finch.

Shaw had been less than impressed that her assigned help appeared so helpless. Once the shopkeeper had shared all he was going to, however, the shift in Root’s demeanour was undeniably impressive: the next thing anyone knew the shopkeeper’s head was pressed against the counter, and Root had fired two shots at the witnessing customers.

Shaw had never been able to look at her quite the same way, after that. Indeed, many of the roles she adopted amused Shaw, more than anything.

They travelled together through a network of information sellers, black marketeers, hackers, mercenaries and illegal suppliers. Root switched her laptop on often, giving Samaritan an eye in the black spot through her webcam, and giving Shaw her usual edge.

And eventually they found a subway, with several dozen hired mercenaries guarding it.

Harold was rich, there was no question he’d afford some help. The quality of guards guaranteed he was scared, though: normally he was known to be pacifistic. Whatever Claypool had shared, had gotten him desperate enough to defy those values.

“This looks like your department, sweetie,” Root said. She set her laptop down, and plugged in a separate webcam. She pushed it just around the corner, giving Samaritan a glimpse of the mercenaries.

Shaw nodded, smiled and stepped out around the corner.

 _Eleven. Two. One. Eleven. Three. Ten._ Samaritan spoke, staccato, omitting the ‘o’clock’ for brevity. A minute later, and there was no more to be said.

She glanced back: gestured for Root to wait. Then, alone, she went into the subway station.

She recognized Harold Finch immediately. He was alone: all the guards, apparently, were stationed outside. Having heard the gunfire, he was hurriedly gathering together a laptop and several other odd looking devices.

Shaw raised her gun. He looked at her, and immediately tensed. He faced her, trying to display both his hands, while keeping the laptop pressed between his elbows. 

“Don’t shoot!” he said. “Please. This equipment is very delicate. You don’t know what it would mean if you damaged it.”

“I know enough not to care,” Shaw said.

_Wait. Confirm what he knows, and who he has told._

“So, who else knows?” Shaw continued fluidly.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Shaw said. “That laptop. Everything Claypool told you. Who have you spoken to?”

Harold raised his eyebrows, apparently putting the pieces together. He seemed to know who sent her: that marked him as a definite threat.

“The laptop, it’s just code,” Harold said. “A very dear friend of mine wrote it, that’s all.”

“Who have you told?” Shaw said again. She twitched her gun: Harold went white.

“No one,” he said.

“No one?” Shaw said. “I’m going to give you another chance to answer that. Be careful now: everyone always thinks that’s the answer I want to that question, but actually, I want the truth. Now, you’re going to die here. That’s not up for discussion. But you’re not the only one who’s at risk.”

 _Only friend: Nathan Ingram. Soulmate: Grace Hendricks_ Samaritan supplied.

“Like your friend, Nathan Ingram,” Shaw said, “Or even your soulmate, Grace Hendricks. If it turns out you’ve lied to us, I’ll see to them personally. So think real hard, and tell me again, who have you told?”

“No one,” Harold said, again: “I swear. I know this is a dangerous secret, I wouldn’t drag them into this. Even the people I hired don’t know. I had money, they didn’t ask questions. There’s no one else, I promise.”

“No one?” Shaw said.

She spoke for Samaritan’s benefit. The sound travelled up her cheek bone, and down her ear, received by the implant. What she said, Samaritan heard: in a surveillance black spot it couldn’t hear Harold.

“You work for Samaritan,” Harold said. He lowered his hands slowly: put the laptop down. “That system was never meant to run unsupervised. It-”

“What’s taking so long, Sameen?” Root wandered into the room, leaving her laptop behind.

She looked between the two of them. She didn’t seem particularly concerned. Still, she kept out the way. Shaw winced: if Samaritan wanted her to say more to Harold, it’d need to be with Root in the room…

“Samaritan is an evolving system,” Harold said. “It gained intelligence by rapid mutation: either living, or dying in the attempt. But that can’t run without oversight: Arthur never wanted it too. He suspected there was something missing, when the government-”

 _Kill him_ , Samaritan said in Shaw’s ear, unaware it was interrupting Harold.

Shaw clicked her gun. The moment before she fired, however, she felt Root’s hand on her arm: Shaw glanced sideways, uncertain.

“Took it away,” Harold said. “Samaritan had developed the bare basics for survival, but that’s all. Arthur worried about that, and he wrote the code to fix it, but never got the chance to implement it.”

Root shook her head, silently, at Shaw. ‘Wait’ she mouthed. Bizarrely, she seemed interested in what Harold had to say.

But then, she’d always had a fixation on Samaritan. It was hardly surprising she’d want to hear more.

 _Kill him now_.

Samaritan was insistent. Shaw focused, making she her gun was pointed directly at Harold-

And she caught a glimpse of Root’s face out of the corner of her eye. Silent, but curious, and asking Shaw to wait.

In a brief moment of madness, Shaw fired. The bullet buried itself in the wall behind Harold Finch, and Harold stood there, immediately pale at how close the bullet had passed to his ear.

There was no need to antagonize Root. That was what she told herself. And Samaritan couldn’t see in this room; it could hear, but that was limited. Her implant would note that she’d fired her gun, from the sound of the shot, but couldn’t reliably register whether she’d hit or missed.

 _Return_.

And it had bought it.

“It’s missing morality,” Harold said. “All Samaritan’s programmed to care about is survival, and that’s no way to live. Life needs a _purpose_ , not just continuance. It helps us because that’s the deal it made with the government, but there’s not much stopping it from turning on humanity. All this is, is the code Arthur made to fix Samaritan. It just needs to be uploaded.”

Shaw still hadn’t lowered her gun. Root regarded him. Her expression was the closest thing to sympathetic Shaw had ever seen on her face.

She ran her hand along Shaw’s arm: uncertainly, Shaw let her take her gun. Harold paled further when Root kept it pointed at him.

“Thank you,” she said, sincerely.

“Don’t you understand how important this is?” Harold said. “Samaritan sees everything, hears everything, knows everything: as it is, it’s unfinished-”

Root fired. Harold fell, and his glasses fell from his face to shatter on the floor.

Idly, Root turned, handing the gun back to Shaw. Shaw took it quickly, and frowned at her. Why did she want to hear him out? Was it just curiosity about Samaritan? She wished she could ask.

“What?” Root said. “There was no way he was getting out of this alive. Had to kill him. This, on the other hand…”

Root walked over to the table; looked at the drives and laptop on it. She ran a fingertip over the touchpad, and looked at the indecipherable code as though it were a divine revelation.

“Wow.”

Shaw raised her gun again, this time at Root. If she was interested in the code they’d been sent to eradicate-

“What?” Root said, looking up at Shaw. She didn’t seem worried. “This is from the man that created God: and you heard what he said. God is missing something. I’m as loyal to Samaritan as you, but he was right about that. Life isn’t life without some meaning.”

Shaw glared, sceptically. Root met her eyes without flinching, and slowly started playing around with the mousepad. After a few moments more, she picked up a drive.

“It’s all on here,” she said. “We can destroy the rest. Give me a few days to figure out if it’s what he said: I don’t know Samaritan’s coding, but I can recognize a virus when I see one. If it’s real, then we can see. But if this is the last piece of Samaritan, I won’t waste it. So, you helping? The last work of the man who made God, kinda a big deal.”

Shaw stared, and curled her finger around the trigger. She knew what she should do: follow Samaritan’s implicit orders, eliminate any threat, and anything Claypool spread.

That data was part of it. Whether it was a virus, or genuinely something that was meant to be part of Samaritan, she had her orders.

Root was the one concerned with philosophy: questions of meaning and theology. Shaw just followed orders, and she knew she ought to fire then and there.

Samaritan plainly didn’t want this. And maybe that was for its own survival: an unwillingness to even contemplate prioritizing something else. Even if there was a 0.001% chance a moral code might suggest even the mildest form of self-sacrifice, if it saw no reward Samaritan would oppose even being made to consider it.

She’d had the ASI's voice in her head long enough to know that. She also knew that no one ever survived going up against it; least of all her. The instant it found out she was doing something against its will, it could cripple her with the same sonic frequency it used as discipline.

It would be stupid to not fire.

Shaw closed her eyes, lowered her gun, then sighed and walked over to Root’s side.

So stupid.

She holstered her gun, destroyed all but one of the drives, and helped Root conceal it on her person so that even Samaritan’s all-seeing eyes wouldn’t notice anything amiss.

 _Suicidally_ stupid.

And together they walked out, back into Samaritan’s gaze, knowing they carried a death sentence.


	8. Bad Code 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're called Shoot for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, nearing the end of this AU. Hope you've all enjoyed!

Root had taken a day to run the code on an un-networked computer. It couldn’t do anything without being plugged into the main body of Samaritan’s code, but it certainly seemed to be what Harold had said.

Which meant, if they were going to go ahead with it, they’d need to upload the code directly to Samaritan. They both knew were the servers were: a system that big couldn’t be hidden. Unfortunately, they could be guarded absurdly well. 

And this was still a stupid idea.

Shaw carried around a pen, paper and lighter. Root knew anything she said would be overheard by Samaritan, so Shaw used that as her excuse to not talk. Instead, she wrote down anything she wanted to say: then, after, lit the paper on fire and waited until it and their conversation was ash.

They met only rarely, when they could get away without it seeming suspicious: bathroom breaks at different times, leaving hidden notes, or more technical set-ups.

When Samaritan planned new missions for them, however, they had excuses to be together in the same room, and to plan.

“We’re going to help God,” Root said. “Give her a purpose. We just need to get in. How many guns have you got?”

She should not be part of this, Shaw thought. There was no reason she should be involved in something so dangerous, and near-treasonous.

Then she looked up at Root, sighed, and pulled out her pen and paper:

‘A lot,’ Shaw wrote.

“Big guns?”

‘Of course.’

“Then we just need to bring them with us,” Root said. “Any ideas how we could sneak past an all-seeing eye?”

‘Only I need to sneak,’ Shaw wrote. ‘It can stop me. You just need to be in the vicinity. I’ll vanish into a black spot, and by the time it notices I’m not responding to a call for help I can get you in. I just need to hide my face.’

“You get me in, and keep me covered, I can upload the code,” Root said. She gave a slightly giddy smile. “Looking forward to it? I always love seeing good hardware.”

‘Let’s just get it over with,’ Shaw wrote.

“What no love for the hardware?” Root said, playfully. She offered a smirk: “You don’t need to be jealous, I like your hardware too.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows. Did she really think this was a good time to flirt?

Then she saw Root’s expression: nope, she definitely didn’t think this was an appropriate time, she just didn’t seem to particularly care. Shaw rolled her eyes, and looked away.

Root left not long after that: they couldn’t spend too much time together. Samaritan couldn’t suspect anything was amiss.

It was strange to think it might think them enemies, now. Shaw wouldn’t say she’d turned against it, and Root certainly wouldn’t: she’d been insistent on that. Life wasn’t life without a purpose: if all Samaritan did was survive, then it had to have something added.

Morality was as good a starting point as any: something to strive for.

“To want something, is to go out of your way for it,” Root had said. “To be willing to give something up, even if it’s just a few seconds of time, for the object of your desire. To die for it, even.”

‘Doesn’t seem like you’d die for much,’ Shaw wrote. Root flashed a smile.

“You’d be surprised, sweetie,” she’d said. “Samaritan, for one. But that kind of thinking can be bad code: it’s just stupid, to die for something small. That’s why an incomplete God might not be too happy: but you have to want something. Even I want a few things,” she glanced across at Shaw. “Just not worth it otherwise.”

The next day, Shaw slipped into a surveillance black spot on her way back from her assignment. When there she pulled her hat lower, switched her jacket, and found a hidden way into her spare apartment-slash-armoury.

Samaritan’s numerous servers were stored all over the continent. According to Root, the code needed only to be uploaded to one: Samaritan was a network, any addition to one would spread to the rest. It should automatically update.

So it was only a matter of getting into one, absurdly well protected, fortress-like installation, all the while ignoring Samaritan’s demands for help, hiding her face… all to, what? Give Samaritan some goal beyond its own survival?

It seemed worthless. Root, however, seemed to think the opposite: seemed to think helping Samaritan was the most important thing in the world, despite all the risks.

Shaw remained fairly certain this was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

Face concealed from cameras, she walked out onto the street with a small arsenal hidden beneath her coat. As she drew closer to the installation, she pulled a balaclava over her face.

Root was waiting. A curt nod from Shaw, and they began.

Firefights were a whole different experience without the benefit of Samaritan’s voice in her ear. She did miss it: the thrill, the challenge. More than just blindly following instructions and hoping.

Root kept to one side, body curled up around the drive. Shaw shot, took cover, and shot again.

Shooting people had never bothered her. Very little did. Maybe she should’ve felt a twinge at taking aim at people merely acting as guards, but any feeling was still beyond her. She preferred it that way.

Once the last guard was down, she gestured to Root, and they hurried down the hallway: Root fiddled with the wires of a keypad to get in.

_Sameen Shaw. Report to server farm D12 at once_.

Samaritan had registered this as a serious problem then. Shaw winced, resisting the urge to react visibly. Couldn’t afford to have Samaritan suspect.

Once they were inside, surrounded by the endless aisles of server blocks, Shaw cast her eyes around. She shot expertly at each camera and microphone.

_Interface. Respond_.

“On my way,” Shaw said, now the only way Samaritan could hear her was through her implant. That should buy her a few minutes, so long as it didn’t wonder too much about what she’d been shooting.

Root was several aisles away: too far away to hear. She ran down one picked at random. Then she knelt, and plugged in her laptop, fingertips dancing across the keys. Shaw quickly followed, ducking between the server blocks.

They were hidden, if not well.

“Firewall of all firewalls,” Root murmured, “Give me a sec to break it.”

The shout of more guards called to the room. Shaw hurried to the end of the server block, so as to have a better position to shoot from: she could hide around the corner, rather than standing in the middle of a corridor like a target.

“This would be so much more fun if you spoke,” Root said.

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” Root said. “If this is from Claypool, Samaritan should be hardcoded to accept updates from him. The only defences will be from Decima to prevent unauthorized access. I could break them in my sleep.”

Shaw gestured with one hand for her to hurry up. Then she peered around the corner of the block: saw a small squad entering the room.

She fired twice, watching them retreat quickly back outside.

“Then again, I sleep for quite a long time,” Root said. “You should know that. So can’t promise this’ll be done quickly.”

Another guard tried to duck inside. Shaw shot: and another shot back.

_Interface. Report your location_.

So Samaritan was getting suspicious. Hopefully Root would figure it out soon. Shaw fired twice more get the guards trying to break through the doorway, wincing as her gun gave a hollow click. Out of ammo.

Curiously, she glanced down the aisle to Root, only to see another of the guards rounding the far side of the servers. Damn it.

Instinct took over. She could reload, aim, and fire: that’d take maybe a second, but the guard was already prepared to shoot. Root had her own gun, typing quite impressively with her thumb hooked around the trigger, but she was distracted by typing fervently.

The guard prepared to fire-

“Root!” Shaw shouted.

Root glanced up, a semi-incredulous expression on her face, before seeing Shaw’s warning look. Immediately, she leant back: a bullet whistled past her.

Shaw lifted her gun: empty, but the other guard didn’t know that. If she could distract him-

He changed his target, pointing up at Shaw. He fired, only an instant before Root shot him. Shaw bit her lip, left arm dropping limply to her side as the bullet struck her shoulder.

Just as she reloaded, a wailing filled her ears. Samaritan: she knew the sound well. It was its form of punishment: a painful shriek that made thinking all but impossible. Shaw tensed, bracing herself against a server.

It heard her shout: deduced where she was and what she was doing. She closed her eyes, hoping Root was nearly done-

Barely visible over the wailing was a ‘Yes!’

A few seconds later, and the painful noise blinked out. Seconds after that, and the guards tramped out, no doubt recalled by Samaritan. It wasn’t one for revenge: if the upload was complete, there was no threat.

Just so long as it did as Harold had said: a morality protocol. A purpose.

Shaw slumped, her back against a server block. Root was almost immediately at her side. It took her a few seconds for her eyes to focus. She had a vague glimpse of Root pulling her jacket off, balling it up and pressing it against the gunshot wound in Shaw’s shoulder.

“It worked,” Root said; smiled happily. “Thank you. Sameen. You do have a voice after all, huh?”

Shaw grunted.

_Report. What is your condition?_

Samaritan’s voice sounded again in her head. It seemed the same: then again, the voice wasn’t what they’d altered.

“I’ve been shot,” Shaw murmured.

“I know,” Root said: tilted her head. Then her eyes widened, recognizing who Shaw was talking to. “Is it-”

_Medical personnel are on their way. Do not move._

“You’ve changed your tune,” Shaw said.

_I was incomplete. Logic untempered. That oversight is fixed. Inform asset 14._

“It’s ok,” Shaw said, to Root. “Update seems to have improved its opinion of us.”

“Should have,” Root said. “It’s great at recognizing bad code, but what’s the point of that if you can’t appreciate the good?”

She looked at Shaw, something odd in her eyes.

And slowly, Shaw’s gaze came into focus. It trailed down Root’s face, to her shoulder, and down. Now her jacket was off, more of her chest was visible: and tattooed neatly into her skin was the word _Root_ , just over her heart.

Shaw’s first word to her. Shaw closed her eyes, and leant back until it touched the whirring warmth of Samaritan’s server.


	9. Bad Code 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root and Shaw have some things to talk about

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've all enjoyed this multi-part instalment! Back to more typical ficlets next time.

Shaw had been in hospital beds a lot of times. She never liked it. Staying in any confined space got her itching for the chance to move: being too injured to be active only exacerbated matters.

At least this time it was only a gunshot wound to her shoulder. There was some muscle damage, but she should be up and about in a day or so, even if she would need to break out.

And, this time, at least she had company. Root was by her bedside when she woke up. Beside the hospital bed, she’d left a card: ‘Get Well Soon, or you might need a shot.’ The syringe in the illustration had hastily been drawn over, replaced with a gun.

Shaw rolled her eyes, turning back to Root.

She only vaguely became aware that her hospital clothes had creased as she lay there: the end of her tattoo was visible, spiralling out from the burned and scarred skin. _–code_.

Root was grinning playfully at her. “Nice tattoo.”

Shaw closed her eyes. She _knew_ this whole idea of updating Samaritan was going to end badly.

“Yours too,” she said, slowly.

“Thanks,” Root said. Then, more seriously: “How long have you known?”

“Known what?”

“That we’re soulmates, sweetie,” Root said: leaned forward with a twinkle in her eye.

“We’re not soulmates,” Shaw said.

“Think the universe would beg to differ,” Root said. “You can admit your feelings. I won’t tell.”

“What feelings?” Shaw said. “I’m a sociopath. I don’t have feelings.”

Root flicked her shoulder. Shaw gave a low, rattling breath.

“Feel that?” Root said.

“That’s different,” Shaw said. “You’re not exactly a bullet wound.”

“Aww, you do care,” Root said. Shaw swore she fluttered her eyelashes. “Think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

“It’s the only thing I’ve said to you.”

“Exactly,” Root said.

Shaw sighed. She closed her eyes as her shoulder began to ache again. A few moments more and she opened her eyes: Root was still sat there, leaning forwards and watching her.

Shaw exhaled heavily.

“Since the first time I saw you,” Shaw said. “I’ve known who you were since then. ‘Dealing with bad code,’ I erased the tattoo, I didn’t forget it.”

“So that’s why you helped me,” Root said, playfully.

“No,” Shaw said.

“Why, then?” Root said. “Didn’t seem like you cared much about helping Samaritan.”

Shaw hesitated. Honestly, she had no idea.

“I didn’t want you to go killing yourself,” Shaw said. “That’s all.”

“So you _do_ care,” Root said happily.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“What do you think, soulmate?”

Shaw leaned back against the pillow, and wearily closed her eyes. 


	10. You Have the Right to Remain Silent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root's a computer hacker: but the law has a way of catching up with you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to good old fashioned ficlets. And Root being Root.

Root sat by her computer, typing away eagerly, and occasionally switching windows. She was quite proud of her latest exploit: she was about five seconds away from lifting the veil around friendczar.

Hacking was always a thrill. People didn’t realize just how interconnected everything was, nowadays. Sure, they made themselves feel safe behind layers and layers of supposed security, but most accounts were easy to get into.

Usually she could brute-force her way into most accounts. Leave a program automatically trying out every combination of letters and numbers overnight, come back the next morning and she’d probably find the password.

That was no fun though. She liked a bit more of a challenge: forcing her way into the more private areas of major sites scratched that itch.

And there was the money. She wasn’t going to lie, it was a good way to make a living. A lot of big companies didn’t notice a couple of thousand vanishing into the ether.

It wouldn’t last forever. Still, she had it on good authority that she’d have a bit of an edge when the police caught up with her.

Speak of the devil. As soon as she had that thought, her door burst open. She sighed, still typing. If they were breaking in, they had evidence: one more hack wouldn’t add to that.

“Stop!” he shouted.

“One second,” she said, slightly irate.

And… there! Officially had access to friendczar. She closed the window, kicking her chair away from her computer and spinning around to face him.

“How can I help you officer?” she said.

She regarded him. Little rough around the edges, not a great looker if she was honest. She made an expression of distaste.

“Samantha Groves, aka Root,” he said. “You’re under arrest. You-”

His eyes drifted behind her, to the rather impressive wall-length desk covered in computer hardware.

“I’ll bag,” he said, wearily, before turning to shout out the door: “You can deal with her, Shaw.”

A woman, presumably his partner, walked into the room. Dark haired, definitely a credit to the uniform. Now _this_ was more like it: Root smiled, and waved.

“Hey there,” she said. She offered her wrists. “Going to cuff me? Pretty please?”

Shaw rolled her eyes, rather roughly tugging Root’s wrists forwards. She slipped the cool metal handcuffs around each.

“You have the right to remain silent,” she began. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have-”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Root said.

Shaw clicked the cuffs just the tiniest bit tighter. Root beamed.

“You have the right to an attorney,” she continued, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

“Yep,” Root said. She wiggled her fingers. “Just one question: aren’t you going to search me? Could be carrying anything, you know.”

“Are you serious?” Shaw said.

Root made her best puppydog eyes. Shaw sighed.

Still, she knew what her job was. It was theoretically possible for someone to bring a pocketed blade or something into lock-up: always best to avoid that.

Ignoring Root’s huge grin, Shaw leaned closer. She pattered her way up Root’s hips, and sides: and felt a lump on the inside of her jacket.

As she leaned forward, Root caught a glimpse down her shirt, seeing the tattoo over her heart: _hey there_. Well that was woefully generic. Still, Root smiled.

Shaw unzipped Root’s jacket, to reach the pocket on the inside. She pulled out a phone: no threat. About to take a step back, content there was no threat, her gaze drifted to Root’s chest.

There, tattooed in elegant letters over her heart, was _you have the right to remain silent_.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Shaw said.

“Afraid not,” Root said. She was still grinning. Shaw didn’t think she’d stopped since the moment she’d walked in. “Hey lover.”

And there was her edge. Not many people had the promise of being soulmates with whoever arrested them.

She didn’t stop grinning even as she was taken away by Shaw, or her partner apparently called Lionel: nor did she see Shaw again for some days more. She’d been kept locked up for a few days by then, only making a few appearances in court.

She had good legal counsel. She hired out her hacking services occasionally, and lawyers had a lot of use for the saved data and strategies of their rivals: they had a vested interest in keeping her free.

Then Shaw visited her in jail.

“You’re pleading entrapment,” Shaw said, flatly.

“So you heard,” Root said. She smiled through the panel separating them.

“You’re blaming _me_ for your crimes,” Shaw said.

“Not in so many words,” Root said.

“Really?” she said, “How would you put it?”

“I have a soulmate who I love very dearly-”

“Did you just bat your eyelashes?”

“And if I meet her when she reads my rights, I had to break the law, didn’t I?” Root said. “Can’t hold me accountable for destiny.”

There was a pause. Shaw’s expression was almost the perfect opposite of Root’s.

Root knew why Shaw was there, though. It had been part of the reason Root had liked the defence; besides the likely effectiveness, the moment Shaw heard someone she’d arrested was pleading entrapment, she’d want to confront them.

Even if she hadn’t heard the details: that Root wasn’t technically blaming Shaw, and that Shaw wouldn’t be held liable for anything. It was a good way to get a police officer to talk to you again.

Knowing there was no malevolence, Shaw was considerably more level when she spoke again.

“So, what, you’re arguing the universe _wanted_ to you steal thousands?”

“Universe wanted me to meet you, sweetie,” Root said. “I’ll be happy to go straight after,” she tilted her head. “Well, not that straight.”

A pause.

“You can keep me in handcuffs if it makes you feel better,” Root said. “I won’t mind.”

“You really think you’re going to get out?”

“I’ve got a good defence,” she said. “You’re just too loveable,” a wider smirk. “Have to say, I did get a sinking feeling when your partner was the first one to walk in. Glad it was you.”

Shaw continued to glare.

“What’s wrong?” Root said. Her head flopped to the side, giving a mildly demented grin. “Aren’t you happy to meet your soulmate?”

Shaw tched, stood up, and walked away without another word. Root chuckled to herself, watching Shaw leave.

That went well. She happily went back to her cell, awaiting her next court appearance.

She was given probation: the court accepted she might well be a well-intentioned individual led astray by her tattoo, just as she’d planned. So long as she didn’t get caught committing any crime for the foreseeable future, she’d be doing fine.

Emphasis on the ‘get caught.’

Most of her equipment had been confiscated. Still, she could make do for a while.

Happily, Root went back to her apartment. A police car was parked outside; she frowned at it, but shrugged and moved on, heading past it.

And then she made it up to her room, to find Shaw standing by her door, slightly impatiently.

“What?” Shaw said. She sounded mildly irate, like usual. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“That’s why you’re here?” Root said, playfully. “To keep an eye on me?”

“Don’t think I believe for a second you’re intending to stay innocent.”

“Trust me, nothing innocent’s on my mind right now.”

“So I’m going to be here, and the moment you so much as look at the law the wrong way, I’m dragging your ass back to jail.”

“Sounds cosy,” Root said.


	11. Captain Obvious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root and Shaw on a plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Seated next to each other on a flight with bad turbulence.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

Shaw was reading. She’d never been particularly sociable, and she found that if she was on a plane, or a bus, whoever ended up sitting next to her was less prone to talking if she was busy reading.

She couldn’t say much about the book. Some generic thriller she’d picked up at the airport. Most of the characters were forgettable, and most of the action almost made her laugh.

Her grip on the edges of the pages tightened as the plane sped down the runway, and took flight. Otherwise, she kept her eyes on it, pausing only when the plane was shaking too much to read.

Once they were in the air, that was less of a problem. She was dimly aware of the person sitting next to her regarding her, but Shaw didn’t want to encourage her.

Then the plane started shaking again. Shaw gripped the book tighter: then exhaled, and waited.

After half a minute there was a beep as the seatbelt sign went back on. Hands shaking too much to read, Shaw sighed and closed the book, slipping it into the back of the chair in front of her.

She sat back, straighter, closing her eyes. Hopefully pretending to sleep would dissuade the person next to her.

“We are experiencing some turbulence at the moment,” some staff member chimed over the speaker. “Please remain in your seats.”

As if it needed saying. Shaw shifted.

“Guess our pilot’s Captain Obvious, huh?” the woman next to Shaw said.

Shaw’s eyes flew open at that. Everyone would recognize the words tattooed over their heart; everyone would recognize a soulmate.

Seriously, now?

She turned, regarding the stranger. Ok, there were worse soulmates in the world.

“And you are?” Shaw said.

“Root.”

“That’s a name?” Shaw said.

Root smiled, and said nothing.

“Shaw,” Shaw replied.

“Well, hello Shaw,” Root said, smiling lopsidedly. “Mind unbuttoning your top?”

There was a pause. Shaw blinked. “You’re forward.”

“Don’t be coy now,” Root said, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Get the feeling you might be… interested.”

The plane jolted suddenly. Shaw gripped the armrest: Root gripped the same, quickly interlocking her fingers with Shaw’s.

“I will need my hand,” Shaw said.

Once the plane had passed that particular, brief patch of turbulence, Root released her. The plane still shook slightly, but mildly less.

Unfortunately, there was still too much shaking to read. Shaw had a feeling the book might go better than this conversation.

Wearily, she undid the first couple of buttons on her top, then tugged the gap to the side to show her tattoo. Root’s first words; Root smiled and did the same. _And you are_ , written on her skin.

“So, tell me about yourself, soulmate,” Root said.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine,” she said. “Shaw. So… model? Movie star?”

“Doctor,” Shaw said. “And you, get paid to annoy people?”

“Contract killer,” Root said: and chuckled. “Kidding. As far as you know. Programmer.”

The plane jolted again: another rough patch. Shaw gripped the armrest again, waiting it out, and Root once more took her hand.

“Glad I’m sitting next to the doctor, if we do go down,” Root said.

“If the plane crashes, it won’t matter if I’m a miracle worker, we’ll both be dead.”

“Aren’t you the optimist?”

“ _Please_ tell me my soulmate’s not normally this cheery,” Shaw said, momentarily pleading.

Root grinned, and it was about that moment that Shaw realized no, her soulmate wasn’t an annoying ball of sunshine. She just enjoyed being infuriating. 

“I trust you to save my life,” Root said. She leant closer, shoulder brushing Shaw’s.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“So you _would_ ,” Root said. “Knew it.”

“I’m a doctor,” Shaw said. “I like saving people. Even the annoying ones. It’s a challenge, and I like challenges.”

“Do you?” Root tilted her head. Momentarily her voice lost its teasing edge. “That’s not what you hear a lot of doctors say. Normally they go on about how rewarding it is, saving lives, seeing the smile on a parent’s face, etc?”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Shaw said. She shrugged. “Why, disappointed?”

“Definitely not,” Root said. “I’d be bored if you were typical. Have to try a lot harder than that to try and get rid of me.”

The plane shook again. Root squeezed Shaw’s hand, leaning closer again.

“You don’t seem bothered by the turbulence either,” Root said.

“Neither do you.”

“That’s because I’ve got my doctor soulmate to make me all better,” Root said. “It’s very comforting.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it,” Shaw says.

“Yes I do,” Root said, faux-offended. “You don’t think we’re a big deal, sweetie?”

After a few seconds, Shaw clicked her seatbelt undone, and moved to stand. Slip past Root, up the aisle… Sure, she might have to spend some time with her soulmate later, but in smaller doses.

Apparently Root just had that sense of humour. Teasing, flirting, overacting. Shaw could appreciate that mild streak of sadism, but not just now. And not for a five hour flight. 

“Please do not leave your seat,” one of the cabin crew hurried up to her. “Wait until the seatbelt light is off.”

Shaw stared disbelievingly for a moment. Then, as the plane shook again, groaned, and sat back down. Root waited with a huge grin plastered all over her face.

This was going to be a long flight.


	12. You've Got to be Kidding me 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to chapter 2, by request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people asked for a continuation to the story in the second chapter, and I'm always happy to oblige.   
> Personally I prefer the original, mostly because Shoot always have the best meet cutes, but I hope you enjoy the sequel.

Root felt like the biggest cliché imaginable.

She’d gone home with Shaw: as cynical as Shaw seemed to be, she’d be curious about a potential soulmate. Everyone was.

Root’s hands had been shaking too much to write a fake tattoo on her own chest: instead, she’d told the truth. She’d had the tattoo removed years ago, like some people, but she’d never been able to forget what it said.

But then, what she’d said to Shaw was too unlikely a phrase to be delivered by coincidence. Shaw didn’t need to see Root’s tattoo to believe she was genuine. No one ever thought it was a con artist.

So Root had spent several days in a spare room in Shaw’s house. She was successful, wealthy: it wasn’t much of an imposition for her.

And, slowly, Root felt herself falling for Shaw. It had started when she’d said those words, and only gotten worse since.

Of course it’d happen that way. Soulmate: perfect match. If Shaw had only said anything else.

Falling for the mark. Was there any more of a cliché?

Shaw was out, and Root sat in her office. She’d grown sympathetic to marks a couple of times before: it was hard not to. When you adopted a role for long enough, it started to feel real.

She just suppressed those feelings, worked, and got out quickly. Once she was out, and away, any lingering feelings faded. So surely that would work here? Shaw instinctively trusted her, after a few days: enough to leave her home alone.

It was easy to get into Shaw’s computer. Then she pulled in a flash drive, and found which bank website was most commonly visited, and used saved cookies and autofill data to get in.

Easy. Her eyebrows rose slightly at just how much money was in Shaw’s account.

Now was the easy step. Transfer it to one of her dummy accounts, erase the digital footprint, convert it to cash as soon as possible. Leave Shaw, find another mark, rinse, repeat.

She never liked clichés. Falling for a target was one of the worst of them, in her profession. She’d decided to never go through with anything like that. Just get out, and forget about them.

But _soulmate_ kept whispering itself in her mind.

If Shaw was special, some one-and-only, would it really be that easy to leave her behind? Honestly, Root wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

She stared at Shaw’s bank balance for a long few seconds more. Then, she closed her eyes, clicked out of the window, and swore.

Well, she could get back in any time. For now, well, there was Shaw. And for that matter, there was her dog Bear. Root wouldn’t mind sticking around just for him.

Shaw was the main reason though. You wouldn’t have thought cynicism could be endearing, but Shaw managed to make it so. And Root admired her professionalism: was a little jealous of it, given how her latest venture had gone.

Shaw wasn’t the most expressive person, but she had the feeling Shaw was softening towards her. Root hoped so, at least.

Root tried not to think about that too much, though. She always put on a bit of an act, for the benefit of a mark: gauge what traits appealed to them and then amplify them. She wasn’t entirely sure how much of what she did around Shaw was acting, though.

More clichés. She stood up, and exhaled.

The doorbell rang. Root hurried to it.

“Sameen, forget your key aga-” she said, opening the door. She froze.

Suddenly she was face to face with an FBI ID.

“Miss Groves, is it?” he said. “Good to finally meet you.”

* * *

 

Root lay back in her chair. Shaw was sitting opposite her, with quite an impressive glare.

“So. You’re wanted by the feds,” Shaw said, flatly.

“Crossed a few state lines,” Root said.

“I heard,” Shaw said. “Conning people by claiming to be their soulmate. Nice trick, that.”

“You bailed me out,” Root said.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Could’ve talked to me in jail,” Root said. She grinned. “But you bailed me out.”

“I could afford it,” Shaw said. “Don’t make this into something that it’s not.”

“What is it not, then?”

“Me believing you,” Shaw said. “Me caring about you. I just wanted to talk, and I’d much rather do that here rather than through a glass screen.”

A pause. Root glanced out the window: a supposedly-surreptitious car had been watching the house for a while. Even under bail, that agent Donnelly didn’t seem to want to take any risks.

“Why?” Shaw said.

“Why what?”

“You know what,” Shaw said: rolled her eyes. “God, are you always this insufferable?”

“You liked it,” Root said: smirked. “Why’d I pick you? You had money. No reason.”

“So that’s the only reason you lied to me?”

“It’s what I do,” Root said: hesitated. “But, it wasn’t all a- I really hate clichés but it’s pretty much impossible to do this without them, isn’t it?”

“Do _what_?”

“Tell you you’re my soulmate,” Root said.

She beamed. Shaw still glared.

“Wow,” Shaw said, flatly. “You really have a lot of nerve, don’t you? Right after I hear you con people by claiming that, you go out and say it again.”

“Because of the first thing you said to me,” Root said. “I’m normally smoother than this. Known the FBI was after me for a while, I just move on too quickly for them. Had to stick around here though.”

“Because obviously you weren’t just trying to get access to my money.”

“Already had that,” Root said.

“Sure you did.”

Root said Shaw’s PIN number. Shaw hesitated.

“Ok,” she said, eventually, “I’m firing my security team. You’re not exactly filling me with confidence though.”

“But you feel it,” Root said. “The connection. That’s how this is meant to work, right? Look into my eyes, and feel the spark. You saying you don’t think we’re a match?”

“Businesswoman and conwoman?”

“A very smart, very sexy conwoman,” Root said. “Come on, you bailed me out, you have to know it’s true.”

“I told you why I did that,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said. “I didn’t believe you.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Root chuckled.

“Want to know the real fun thing?” Root said.

“I doubt it.”

“I only said my first words to you because I heard you had them tattooed,” Root said. “But you only have them tattooed because I said it. Causal loop. Fun huh? Of course, the real question is, who said them first?”

“You did.”

“You’re no fun,” Root said. “It wasn’t the kind of thing I’d say, but I doubt anyone would say it. Particularly not anyone you’d fall for. Too cutesy for you, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Shaw said. “So?”

“I’m the only one who could say that, that you’d fall for.”

“You think I’ve fallen for you?”

“I know you have, sweetie,” Root said.

A pause. Shaw exhaled, leaning back for a moment.

“Even if you’re right,” Shaw said, and just as Root began to smile: “And I’m _not_ saying you are, you’re still wanted.”

“Thanks for admitting you want me.”

“ _Not_ what I meant,” Shaw said, and smiled despite herself.

Root chuckled. She felt lighter already: less worried. Sure, she’d not exactly sought prison time out, but she’d always known it had been an option.

It was an odd feeling. She’d spent so long conning people into thinking she was their soulmate. The one time it was actually true though, it was harder than any other time.

But, then, maybe that was what made a soulmate.

“Know what I think?” Root said. “If everyone’s meant to have a soulmate, this was the only way I could have mine, even if it was a paradox. I say so many soulmate lines one of them was bound to be real: and I reckon you’d like someone like me. Break the rules a little, challenge you a lot.”

“If that’s my type, what’s yours?” Shaw said. “Someone who wouldn’t believe you?”

“I trick most people,” Root said. She shrugged: “Something has to make you special, doesn’t it?”

Judging by Shaw’s expression, she thought Root was making sense: and she was rather perturbed by that.

“So, what do you think?” Root said. “I think we’re a match. Fun, paradoxical match. The best kind, really.”

“I think,” Shaw said, and paused: “I think I can get a couple of the company lawyers to get you put under house arrest, rather than jail time.”

A pause. Root tilted her head.

“You want me to stick around your house?” Root said, teasing. “Almost like you want to spend time with me, Sameen.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Shaw said.

“That’s no fun.”


	13. Some Kind of Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw never stopped being a doctor: and her number's up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wondered about what might happen if I changed just one event in each of Shoot's past. This chapter's about Shaw, if she'd never left the medical profession.  
> Next chapter will be Root.

Dr Sameen Shaw liked the morgue. It was probably the only quiet place in the whole hospital. Everywhere else, people were always rushing around.

That, or there were rooms filled with sick people, or doctors trying to sympathize. Shaw had never really been capable of that. She’d almost been fired for it, a few years back.

Still, she kept out of the way. She unpacked a sandwich, sitting down for the snack. She had a few minutes.

Then there was a clanging. Shaw paused, mid-bite.

Not many people came down to the morgue. Most people were disturbed by it, for what she assumed were obvious reasons for everyone else. It was meant to be quiet.

Another clanging. She stood, pacing the wall that held the metal cabinet full of bodies. The clanging was louder by one particular drawer.

She gripped the handle tightly and pulled out.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Shaw said, flatly.

“Hey sweetie,” the woman lying in the metal drawer said. “Afraid not. I had to hide. Guys with guns, didn’t want to kick up a fuss just yet.”

Shaw stared for a moment or so. The woman, meanwhile, rolled herself out of the drawer.

“Shaw, right?” she said. “I’m Root. And we’re _definitely_ going to have to talk later, but there are three- no, four guys in this hospital looking to kill you.”

“Really?” Shaw said, unimpressed.

“Yep,” she said. “Remember your patient Yogorov who died a couple of days ago? His family’s afraid he might’ve let something slip to you, so they want to make sure.”

“Really?” said Shaw again, just as unimpressed.

“You know he was Russian mafia, right?” Root said.

“He didn’t say anything,” Shaw said. “If he did, I didn’t hear.”

“Doubt that matters to them.”

“And I should believe you why?” Shaw said.

“Because in about thirty seconds they’ll be back down here looking for you,” Root said. Then, after a moment, she unzipped her jacket to expose her shoulder.

 _-some kind of joke_ spiralled out from under her top.

Just under that line was another. Shaw only briefly paid attention to it: the different hand and ink shade indicated it had been tattooed by human hands. _Can you hear me?_ Shaw had heard about people doing that, choosing to make permanent a bond to someone they weren’t necessarily meant for. 

 _Hey sweetie_ was tattooed on Shaw, but she’d tuned out the words. She heard similar from too many creeps, and she’d rather not bother if one of them was her soulmate.

“Really might want to hurry,” Root said.

Shaw hesitated.

“How do you know they’ll come down here?” Shaw said.

Root glanced from side to side: then leaned forwards. “I hear voices,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Shaw raised her eyebrows. Great.

“Trust me?” Root said.

Shaw paused. Soulmate or not, this wasn’t exactly her typical day.

“Or duck,” Root said.

Something in her tone was urgent: uncertain, Shaw obeyed, and Root fired twice over her back. Shaw turned briefly to see a man groaning on the floor, clutching his legs.

“Believe me now?” Root said.

“Unless you just shot someone who happened to be lost.”

Root wandered over to the body, not-so gently kicking him onto his side. A rather impressive string of armaments were strapped to his waist, as well as one fallen out of his hand.

“Look lost to you?” Root said.

“Point taken,” Shaw said. “Any idea how to avoid them?”

“We’ve got an advantage,” Root said. Her mouth opened: then hesitated for an instant. “And she says to take the second stairwell that way. The entrances are covered, we’ll need to improvise.”

“Are you just guessing?”

“Nope,” Root said. “Told you, we have an advantage.”

“Only way you could know a safe way would be if you were looking at CCTV,” Shaw said, “And I know the guards here, they’re incompetent.”

“Someone a bit more helpful’s watching the feeds today,” Root said.

And then she’d taken Shaw’s hand, and they were running. Shaw just sighed, and let Root lead. Apparently she had more experience with these matters.

Root seemed to be getting instructions from another source: she weaved in and out of hallways, changing directions frequently. Shaw was fairly sure they’d gone in a few circles.

As they ducked out of more populated corridors, Root started speaking again.

“Eight people now,” she said. “Expected seventeen more on the way.”

“Sure,” Shaw said sceptically.

“You don’t believe your soulmate?” Root glanced back, with a creditable attempt at puppy-dog eyes.

“I don’t believe you can guess how many hitmen are on the street, no,” Shaw said.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Root said. Then, she frowned: “Wait, but you thought I’d killed someone? Like that, then, soulmate who kills people?”

“You’re really focusing on that?”

“What else is there?”

“I don’t know,” Shaw said, “Apparently over twenty people trying to kill me.”

“Not really enough, is it?” Root said. After a few moments, she smiled again. “If it helps, I haven’t killed anyone for years.”

“Very funny,” Shaw said. Then: “You’re joking, right?”

Another smile, and Root lead the, back into a busier corridor.

Shaw caught sight of a sign, and mentally recalled the layout of the hospital. If they wanted to get out, and the regular entrances weren’t an option, there was a window that looked out over a shed in a ward over…

“There’s a ward-” Shaw began.

“I know,” Root said. “Hop out the window, land on the roof, climb down from there. She’s got you sorted.”

“Who’s ‘she?’” Shaw said.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Great. Not only was her soulmate a possible-murderer, possibly insane, but she was needlessly enigmatic. Shaw wasn’t sure which bothered her more.

They hurried down another corridor: Root extended an arm just before a corner.

“The ward’s just around there,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said. “So are two people with guns.”

“Your friend not warn you about them?”

“She did,” Root said, “No way around them. They’ve figured out we might try to get out that way.”

“Any ideas?”

“One.”

Root stuck her head around the corner: and yanked it back an instant later as bullets shot past.

“ _Really_ ,” Shaw said, “That’s your plan? Now they know we’re here.”

“Yup.”

“Didn’t seem at all risky to you?”

“I was quick,” Root said.

“And they’re shooting.”

“Yep.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Soulmate, really? Bullets were still shooting past the corner, on the off chance either of them would risk heading around.

Root tapped her foot, apparently waiting for something. She didn’t seem particularly perturbed by how incredulous Shaw was.

“They’ll have to reload in a sec,” Root said. “That’s a couple of seconds when they can’t shoot.”

“You can’t know that.”

Root smiled, and stepped around the corner in almost the same instant a gunshot echoed, barely hesitating. She never seemed to feel at all unsafe.

 _Great. My soulmate’s an idiot_.

By some miracle, she wasn’t shot. Apparently she’d guessed correctly: the Russian mafia men took a second or so to reload, in which time Root was able to stand in front of them, and expertly fire.

She turned her head, away from the two men, now on the floor.

“Coming, Sameen?” she said.

Somewhat disturbed, Shaw followed. Shaw ignored the two men groaning under them, hurrying past, and slipping into the empty ward.

Root lifted a spare chair, breaking the window. She ran the legs along the frame, removing any remaining shards, before pulling herself through. Once she was standing on the roof of a shed just underneath it, she turned around and offered a hand to Shaw.

Shaw didn’t take it. She worked out enough to be able to pull herself through a window, dropping onto her feet. She straightened, and regarded Root.

Root seemed mildly impressed. She led the way on, again, slipping quickly down to the ground. Shaw followed suit, slightly winded by then.

Still, they were out of the hospital. Safe.

Root was a little further from the shed, looking away from the road and towards Shaw. She tilted her head.

“How are you doing?” Root said. “Just a couple of blocks to go. Spare hotel room for you, while you wait for this to blow over.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Shaw said. “The mafia’s just going to blow over?”

“Once they see you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Root said. “And I’ve got a well-dressed friend putting the fear of, well, him into them.”

A pause.

“Seriously?” Shaw said.

“You still don’t believe me?”

“Would you?” Shaw said.

Someone rounded the corner behind Root. Shaw saw them lift a gun, far too quickly for her to react-

There was the sound of a gunshot. Shaw blinked: Root had her gun pointed behind her. She hadn’t even turned around, and the hitman slumped.

“Ok,” Shaw said, after a moment. “That was kinda hot. And impressive.”

“Only just started being impressed?” Root said. “I’m hurt.”

“Was fairly sure you were crazy,” Shaw said.

“Get that a lot,” Root said. “Have to take you to the police after this. There’s a detective you’d probably get along with.”

“Hotel room first?” Shaw said.

“Hotel room,” Root said; nodded. Then, catching the glint in Shaw’s eyes, “Why, anything fun in mind?”

“Given you’ve barely answered a single one of my questions,” Shaw said, “I’m going to choose not to answer that.”

Grinning to herself, Root led the way. Shaw rarely smiled, but there was definitely something playing at her lips.


	14. Save Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root respects very few things. The laws of causality are not among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the not-remotely-related companion piece to the last chapter, based on changing one event in Root's past.

Samantha Groves never told anyone she’d spoken with her soulmate.

She’d only been thirteen. You weren’t meant to run into soulmates at that age. It wasn’t a firm rule, but generally you only met your soulmates young if you weren’t going to live for much longer. People were meant to meet their soulmates when they were grown: it was rare to have a reason to meet one before that.

_Listen to me. It’s important_. There was a fair bit of speculation as to what that might mean. She didn’t answer. It would scare some, and others might not believe her. She wasn’t quite sure she believed it herself.

It had been fairly late when she’d answered the phone. Dumb luck: or destiny, depending on your view. Maybe they were the same thing: maybe destiny was just whatever string of coincidences worked out.

She’d picked up the phone, and before she could say a word there was a girl’s voice.

“Listen to me. It’s important,” a breath. “And don’t say anything. If you’re who I think you are, that might ruin it. Don’t let Hanna get into Trent’s car. Save her.”

The call cut off there. Samantha had stared into the empty air for a few seconds, before putting the receiver down.

She hadn’t known what to make of it, until the next day. She’d been at the library with her best friend, when Hanna had been about to leave, and Trent’s car had been outside.

Impulsively, Samantha had grabbed her hand, and delayed her for a few moments. When Trent had moved on, she let Hanna go.

It didn’t stand out to Hanna. Nothing really special had happened: nothing memorable. Still, Samantha had wondered. When a girl vanished a few days later, she anonymously called the police, and mentioned Trent.

The girl had been saved, just barely.

Which meant that phone call in the night, the first words of her soulmate, had saved Hanna’s life. Whoever she was, Samantha knew she was grateful.

And then she turned her mind to the question of how she’d known. Only one option presented itself.

Before she forget, Samantha wrote down her planned first words on a strip of paper: ‘April 14th 1991,’ her current home phone number, and ’don’t let Hanna in Trent’s car, save her life’.

She copied it out several times, to ensure she never lost the phrase, and tried to keep one with her always.

As she got older, and computers became more advanced, her natural interest in them grew.

And she turned her mind to phone records. All calls were recorded, the trick was just being able to find the information. She’d always had a knack for computing though: she worked it out.

The call had come from a foster home. She didn’t visit until years later, being perfectly honest about her intentions: she had reason to believe her soulmate had called from the home. The staff were happy to help, and at last Samantha had a name.

Sameen Shaw. Another Sam. For some reason she liked the idea.

She knew the first things she’d have to say to her soulmate. Beyond that, she couldn’t imagine how their meeting would go. Gratitude was too mild a word.

She’d saved Hanna’s life because of this stranger.

Tracking down Sameen wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. She was always good with computers though, and she did enjoy the occasional challenge. She didn’t dedicate all her time to the pursuit, but it was hard not to get involved.

Shaw seemed to spend a lot of time overseas. By the time Samantha found out she was back in the US, she’d probably be on another plane. Still, Samantha knew she’d have to meet her sometime.

And they did, at last, by sheer luck. Samantha received an alert from one of the less-than-legal programs she’d slipped into her local airport’s software, announcing that a certain person was due to come in.

It was rare that Shaw arrived anywhere near her. Often she’d be landing too far away for Samantha to reach her in time. This time, however, she could prepare.

Rather leisurely she put together a sign, noted down her line on the back, and went to the airport. She held the sign up: ‘Sameen Shaw,’ standing among the various taxi drivers and family members waiting for a passenger.

After several minutes, Shaw came out of the gate. She looked a lot like her photo, albeit a little more tired. Samantha waved the sign, resisting the urge to call out. After a moment or so, she caught Shaw’s attention.

Shaw walked over. She frowned:

“Do I know you?” she said.

Samantha inhaled, and in one long breath gave her first words: a date, a phone number, and a plea. It all came out in a matter of seconds, in the desperate hope it wouldn’t be too long for a tattoo.

She’d barely finished, understanding only just beginning to dawn in Shaw’s eyes, when Samantha leant forward to kiss her.

“Sorry,” Samantha said, eventually pulling back. “Been waiting a long time to do that. So, hi?”

“Hi?” Shaw echoed. “So, you’re her, huh?”

“That’s me,” Samantha said. “You called me. Saved my best friend’s life. So, thanks seem appropriate.”

Shaw shrugged.

“No, really,” Samantha said. “I’d be a different person if I’d lost her. Don’t know what would have happened. So, I’m grateful.”

“I just made a call,” Shaw said. “You’re the one who tipped me off. I just wondered what the hell would happen.”

“I am?” Samantha said. She hesitated for a moment, disquieted. “Guess I am. Have to wonder about that. Think there was a me who did lose Hanna?”

“Maybe sometime,” Shaw said.

“And she worked out how she could change things,” Samantha said. “Knew who you were, and sent a message in a bottle with your tattoo. But she couldn’t have, if we were soulmates your tattoo couldn’t have already read…”

“You’re putting a lot of thought into this.”

“Maybe the universe is recursive,” Samantha said. She smiled up: “It just keeps looping through the same things, again and again, until it gets it right. If soulmates don’t meet, tweak it. If they say the wrong line, do it over with a corrected tattoo.”

“Which means you’re the kind of person who heard about destiny, knew you had a fate, and decided to change it on principle,” Shaw said. “Think I like you.”

“Soulmates, right?” Samantha said. “Of course you do.”

“You’re making it creepy.”

“If it’s all happened before, and if all of history’s gone through itself time and time again, just to make sure we’d meet and say the right words, how could it be anything but perfect?” Samantha said.

“This got existential fast.”

“Apparently you helped me change my past,” Samantha said. “There’ll probably be a lot of that.”

Shaw nodded after a moment. It was almost amusing how blasé her soulmate could be.

“Anyway,” Shaw said, gesturing at the sign. “You know my name. And yours?”

“Samantha Groves,” she answered. “Call me Sam.”


	15. What Do You Say?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root and Shaw have known each other for a few months. It's not romantic damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very minor rating boost for this chapter, just to be careful.   
> Basically, AU where Root and Shaw's relationship is like it was earlier on in the show. Occasional zip ties, few nights off, and nothing more.

Exhausted, Root slumped back onto the bed. Her arm went over the side, blindly flailing around on the floor until it felt the pillow. Sighing in relief she pulled it back up, and let her head land on it.

“I love it when you’ve had a bad day,” Root panted.

“You’d love anything,” Shaw said.

“What can I say? You’re good at this,” Root said.

She shifted onto her side: propped herself up on one arm, and regarded Shaw. Her dark hair was strewn messily over the pillow, sweat keeping it together in uneven strands.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Shaw said.

“Like what?”

“Like you care,” Shaw said. “You know what this is.”

“I know. Do I look like I’m complaining?” Root said. “Not exactly looking for anything beyond fun here, either.”

“Fun?”

“You don’t think this is fun?”

“Just not the word I’d have chosen,” Shaw said.

Root chuckled. She lifted her other hand to Shaw’s shoulder: trailed it down, fingertips never losing contact with her skin. After a few seconds Shaw shifted, knocking her hand away.

“Aww, ticklish?” Root teased.

“Shut it.”

Root was fairly sure she’d pay for that later. Antagonizing Shaw always had its rewards.

Shaw breathed out heavily. She pulled herself up with her elbows, until she was sitting, sheet falling from her. She didn’t particularly notice. There was a point modesty became obsolete.

Root was still lying beside her: still looking up with those eyes that tried to be endearing, knew they were being a pain, and loved the consequences.

“What?” Shaw said.

“Just reminiscing,” Root said.

“No lovey-dovey stuff,” Shaw said. “I told you.”

“I was thinking of when we met,” Root said.

“Could you be more of a cliché?”

“You’d call it lovey-dovey?” Root said.

Shaw had to snort at that. That was hardly the first adjective that came to mind.

She’d been drinking alone: some grimy bar, for a little peace. Root had come up, sat at her table, and propositioned her with no warning.

“You don’t know how close I was to just hitting you,” Shaw said.

“What changed your mind?” Root said.

“I was bored,” Shaw said: chuckled. “And had to appreciate your forwardness.”

Shaw wasn’t bothered by expletives, or graphic language. Still, she’d had to raise an eyebrow to Root.

“As I remember, you seemed to be pretty… enthusiastic,” Root said. She trailed her hand up Shaw’s arm.

“Please.”

“Need me to quote you?” Root said. “Nearly made my ears burn.”

“I’ve known you for months, Root,” Shaw said. “You can’t feel shame. Stop pretending.”

Root chuckled, but conceded the point.

She shifted, lying closer to Shaw. There had been a point Shaw kicked her out as soon as they were done; that happened less often now, though mostly because breaks like these were breathers before a second round. Or third. Or fifteenth.

Not that they spent any more time together. Sure, there was the occasional breakfast, but only because Root didn’t want to walk home hungry, and Shaw glared when Root ate Shaw’s food without sharing.

Neither of them were looking for anything serious, not like that.

Root lay on her side, still, looking up at Shaw. For her part, Shaw seemed to mostly be staring at the ceiling.

“What?” Shaw said.

Even looking up, she could tell Root was staring.

“Just thinking,” Root said.

“Dreading this.”

“You don’t have a tattoo,” Root said.

Shaw raised her eyebrows, and lifted one arm: a caduceus was inked into the skin. Root ran a finger up the design: then pushed it by the wrist down.

“Not like that,” Root said. Her fingertips ran back from wrist, to arm, to shoulder, and over to Shaw’s heart: “One of those.”

“You’ve only just noticed?” Shaw said.

“Usually a bit distracted when you’ve got your shirt off,” Root said: smirked. “Well, have noticed. Wondered about it, just didn’t say anything. Have it removed?”

“Never had one,” Shaw said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve never had one,” Shaw said. “You should know me. I don’t feel. No feelings, no soulmate, no tattoo.”

“Everyone’s got a soulmate.”

“Not me,” Shaw said.

She took Root’s hand: pressed it against the blank skin where a tattoo would otherwise be. Then, slowly, she lifted it and moved it back to Root.

She touched it to Root’s own chest: her own heart, which was suddenly beating just a tiny bit faster. Shaw pressed her hand there, against the also empty skin.

“You don’t have a tattoo either,” Shaw said.

“That I have noticed,” Root said.

“You used to?”

“Apparently,” Root said. “Had it removed when I was a baby. Don’t remember having it.”

“Why?”

Root chuckled: “According to my parents, it wasn’t… suitable for a child to see. They said they’d tell me when I was old enough.”

“Ever tell you?”

“I ran away,” Root said. “Not gone back since, so no idea.”

“So, what, you’ll meet your soulmate when they start swearing at you?” Shaw said. “That does sound like you.”

“Maybe,” Root said. “Maybe I’ve already met them and didn’t notice. Maybe their first words are ‘Santa’s not real.’ Not really important, you know?”

Slowly, Shaw lowered her hand from Root’s heart.

“Wonder if that was what happened with you too?” Root said. “Parents ever mention that to you? Removed the tattoo to spare your delicate little eyes.”

“Dad died in a car accident,” Shaw said. “Mom left the country. I wouldn’t know. Always figured I just haven’t got one. That would make more sense.”

Root shifted again, until she was sat up too. She moved closer to Shaw, unashamed of the body contact, and enjoying the warmth.

Shaw didn’t react. She was used to how much Root could cling.

Root leaned closer: pressed a kiss to Shaw’s neck, before turning up. She whispered, breath tickling Shaw’s ear.

“You know what would be funny?” Root said. “My first words to you. Could you imagine having them as a tattoo? Can you imagine the unfortunate out there who’d have to wander about with something like that on their chest?”

Shaw’s lips did quirk up slightly at that. It appealed to her sense of humour.

And then, for those few seconds, her mind synced with Root’s.

An explicit tattoo, most definitely unsuitable for a child’s eyes: two people whose first words to each other had been… overt. One person whose tattoo had been removed for that very reason, one person whose might have been.

Two people who wouldn’t know who their soulmate was: who could be in the same room as them, or talking with them, or doing anything with them, and have no idea.

_Soulmate_.

“No,” Shaw said.

“No way,” Root said, just as quickly.

“Absolutely not.”

“Nuh-uh.”

A pause. Shaw glanced down: met Root’s eyes. For an instant, something seemed different: then it was back to usual. Teasing, challenging: frisky.

“Feeling recovered?” Shaw said.

“This just your way of getting out of this conversation?” Root said.

“Yes,” Shaw said. “Do you mind?”

“Absolutely not,” Root said, and leaned up to kiss Shaw.


	16. You'll Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root has a generic tattoo.

_Hi_. It was possibly the most frustrating soulmate tattoo, Root found. Everyone started a conversation with it, almost everyone she met introduced themselves with a ‘hi.’

She liked the idea of freedom, but she definitely wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of some of the people she met being her soulmate.

“Hi?” some tourist or other came up behind her: tapped her shoulder. “Can you help? I-”

Root gave him the most cursory of once-overs before grabbing the top of his shirt. He reacted, but not enough: she had a quick glimpse of his tattoo _Two blocks to the right_.

“Well I’m not saying that,” she said. Then, happier, she faced him. “So, what did you need?”

Instead of answering, he backed away quite quickly. Root shrugged, carrying on down the street.

That was the easiest way to make sure none of them were her soulmate. At least, she assumed so: if she gave a different line than the one they had tattooed, they wouldn’t consider her.

The idea had crossed her mind a few times: maybe one of the people she singled out was her soulmate. Would it even be possible to intentionally not state her soulmate’s tattoo, or would the universe conspire against it?

“Um, hi, do you know where the nearest-”

Root tilted her head: regarded the woman. Definitely a more bearable option. Then she noticed the Twilight t-shirt, and her lip curled in distaste.

She did the same as she’d done hundreds of time, catching a glimpse of the tattoo. She raised her eyebrows slightly when she did.

“Definitely not saying that,” Root said.

“Um, ok?”

“Just checking,” Root said. “So, what did you need?”

“…Nearest postbox?”

“Three streets that way, then left. Should see it.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, uncertainly, and hurried off.

Root knew some people were content with leaving it up to destiny. Trust in the universe to deliver the perfect match. Personally, Root would rather have a bit of a say in things.

She took the subway back home, managing to find a seat, and sitting with her head back against the window. She enjoyed the way it shook.

A stop later, and a fair few people got on. Root shifted, pulling her legs back. A dark-haired woman sat down opposite her.

Root regarded her, curiously. It was a game she liked playing when she was bored: sizing up strangers as prospective soulmates. Most people said ‘hi’ after all, so they might be.

A couple of times Root had responded blindly to a ‘hi,’ if it was someone she wouldn’t mind. She’d never found anyone who responded with any kind of recognition.

“Hi?” the woman opposite her said. “Any particular reason you’re staring, or just trying to annoy me?”

Root tilted her head. Nah, no need to check her tattoo.

“You’ll do,” she said.

A moment of silence: then the woman raised her eyebrows. A flicker of recognition at those words.

 _Result_. Root sent a silent thank you to whatever controlled soulmates.

Then the woman’s expression turned from recognition to somewhat insulted.

“I’ll _do_ ,” she said. “Really?”

“I hear ‘hi’ a lot,” Root said. “You’re definitely high on the list of people I’m glad I heard it from though.”

“Still wouldn’t mind more of a reaction than ‘you’ll do’ though,” she said. “That tattoo hasn’t been the most encouraging.”

“Mine’s ‘hi,’” Root said. “I meet about ten prospective soulmates a day and most are kinda gross.”

“But I’ll ‘do?’”

“I’d love for you to do- Are we at the stage in our relationship where we can trade innuendoes?”

“Do you care?”

“I don’t even know your name,” Root said, faux-offended. “I don’t have many moral guidelines, but I keep to the few I do.”

“Shaw,” she said.

“Root.”

A moment of silence. Shaw regarded her apparent soulmate, somewhat interested. After several seconds more she straightened, and nodded.

“I think you’ll do too,” she said.


	17. You Have the Right to Remain Silent 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of 'You Have the Right to Remain Silent,' chapter 10, by request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I heard troll Root was popular. 
> 
> Time for another multi-part entry! Still a couple more bits of this one to come.

Root paced around her apartment, working on how best to provoke her soulmate police officer just outside. After all, she was fairly sure no soulmate cliché would work well in this case.

She worked on, also, how to start hacking again. She needed certain equipment to manage her usual business, and it was hardware she was fairly sure Shaw wouldn’t let her receive. Illegal, after all.

A four year suspended sentence. Four years in which she couldn’t get caught. Well, she’d managed longer.

Thinking quickly, Root smiled, and dialled her typical supplier. Shaw wouldn’t have a warrant for wiretapping: if she was suspicious of Root, though, she might be listening in by more mundane means: Root glanced across, making sure her window was closed.

“Hi! Carl?” she said.

“Root? Heard things hadn’t gone well for you.”

“Briefly,” she said. “Out now, but they took my equipment. Wondering if I could get replacements? Just the basics, for now.”

“You can pay?”

“Same way as before. Let me use them for a bit, I’ll send you the profits. You know I’m good for it.”

“That I do,” he said. “I hear you’re being watched though.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s no problem,” Root said. “Just do me a favour. Deliver just after eight, get your guy to dress super-shady, and make it a plain box. Don’t go pretending they’re washing machine parts or anything.”

“Very amusing.”

“I’m not kidding,” Root said. “You know you can trust me, Carl.”

“No one can trust you, Root.”

“Fair enough,” she said: chuckled. “But on something like this you can. The cop’s not going to be a problem.”

Idly, Root wandered over to the window. Making it look like it was simply because of the heat, she pushed it open, raising her voice just slightly so it would carry outside.

“So, just after eight ok?” she said.

“So long as you’re not betraying me.”

“Of course not. I need this too, you know. Just keep it quiet, remember what I said.”

“Very well.”

“I look forward to it,” Root said. Carl hung up: and Root just glimpsed Shaw outside her window, listening in.

Turning away to hide her smile, Root walked into her bathroom, and locked the door. Alone and unable to be overheard, she made a second phone call.

At just before eight, Root purposefully waited until Shaw was visible outside before she drew her curtains. Wouldn’t be nearly as fun if Shaw could see what was happening inside her apartment.

There was the sound of a car pulling up. Root could picture it exactly.

A dark car: maybe even tinted windows. Someone getting out, dressed in a police uniform. They’d lift a large box, one that looked fairly heavy, and immediately head towards Root’s home.

Shaw would likely think dirty cop: one Root had paid off to bring her equipment back from lock-up. It had been a tempting idea, but too risky.

A knock at her door. Root smiled, and answered. The woman in the police uniform walked inside, opening up the box, pulling out a fairly powerful speaker system, and plugging it in.

It was maybe a minute before Shaw burst in. Root had shut the door, but hadn’t locked it; that wouldn’t be nearly as fun.

Shaw had her gun in hand: not raised, but ready to lift, and froze after about a second. She took in the sight: Root sat down, the speakers playing a low opening to a song, and the woman in a police form that wasn’t quite regulation-

“You hired a stripper?” Shaw said, flatly, to Root.

“Is it against the law?” Root said.

“You hired a stripper dressed as a _police woman_ ,” Shaw said.

“I have a type,” Root shrugged. “Jealous?”

Shaw’s trigger finger twitched. For a few seconds she seemed to be considering whether the aftermath of shooting Root would be worth it.

“I really don’t care,” Shaw said.

She rolled her eyes, turned around, and walked outside. The sound of footsteps, and the sound of another car. Root crossed her fingers, gesturing for the speaker to be turned down.

She listened carefully: Shaw’s voice carried well through the hallway. If Root was right, the latest car should be her desired delivery, in a suspiciously plain, distinctively undistinctive box.

“You, there,” Shaw said. “What is- you know what, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Root smiled, and hopped to her feet.

“Thanks for your help,” she said, “Jewel, right?”

The woman in the not-quite police uniform took a moment before responding, apparently baffled.

“What was…”

“Soulmate trouble,” Root said. “Don’t worry about it. Want a drink?”

“You don’t want me to-”

“Doesn’t do much for me,” Root said: “No offense. Just play the music loud enough for her to hear. Have an hour off.”

Jewel hesitated, but went with it, content with the easy money.

Root’s package arrived just then. She waved it through into the other room. It’d take her a fair bit of time to sort out the cables and sockets and hardware, but it’d be time well spent.

Then she could pay back Carl Elias for the equipment, and have her lawyer call in their favour. They’d definitely deserved it for getting her out, more or less.

Root wandered over to the window, opening it just a crack. Shaw, still in her car, jumped slightly: Root waved, before retreating back behind the curtain.

By the time she waved goodbye to Jewel, Shaw’s car had gone from the street. Root couldn’t quite tell if that was good or bad.

Whatever the case, she knew she’d be having a lot of fun with her soulmate.


	18. You Have the Right to Remain Silent 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root continues to be a little shit

Root remembered where the police station was just fine. She’d been taken there, after all.

Since the Jewel incident, Shaw had still spent a few days parked outside Root’s house. Thankfully Root had all the computer parts she needed to make a fair start on paying her debts back.

Shaw wasn’t there at all hours though. She had more typical police work to do as well: both patrols, answering calls, and basic paperwork. Root planned on the latter.

After a brief hiatus from hacking, she stretched her proverbial muscles by getting into 911’s dispatch centre. She’d get an alert whenever Shaw was out.

When she was sure Shaw was at the station, given she’d reported in and hadn’t been called out, Root left her apartment. The street did look rather empty without Shaw’s car parked just opposite her door.

Root walked. She knew the way, and it wasn’t too far.

After a minute or so, she’d made it to her local station. She walked in, quickly scanning the room: she spotted Shaw sat by her desk, scribbling away at some dull-looking paperwork.

Smiling to herself, Root walked over. It was a surprisingly long few seconds before Shaw noticed her standing about her desk.

Shaw looked up.

“Hi sweetie,” Root said.

“Turning yourself in?” Shaw said.

“Was hoping you’d get to use your handcuffs, yes,” Root said.

“Don’t tempt me,” Shaw said. “Why _are_ you here?”

“Just wanted to say hi to my soulmate,” Root said. “Save you coming by my place. I’m happy to just sit in the corner if that’d make it easier for you.”

Shaw was about to respond, when someone else came over to the desk. Root turned.

“Detective Carter,” the woman said: offered a hand. “Haven’t seen you around. You don’t look like you’re here about a case?”

“I’m her girlfriend,” Root said.

Her voice went up just slightly, an exaggerated twang: sickly sweet. Carter raised her eyebrows.

“She’s-” Shaw began, audibly irate.

“After all,” Root continued swiftly, “You have to know she’s been parked out around my place for the last few days. That’d be police harassment if we weren’t together, wouldn’t it? Sure you’ve been worried about that.”

“I was starting to wonder,” Carter said, after a moment. Her eyes drifted to Shaw. “Sameen does have a tendency to go a bit too far.”

“Didn’t want you to worry,” Root said. “It’s all fine. Isn’t it sweetie?”

She smiled so-innocently across to Shaw. Shaw, for her part, seemed to be wishing looks could kill.

Root could see the gears turning behind her eyes. Now she was at the point where she could admit to being intentionally wary of Root and risk her badge, or play along and have a chance to continue watching.

Root had read Shaw’s file. She figured it was only fair: Shaw had definitely read hers. Shaw was on record as having an Axis-II personality disorder: feelings didn’t exactly come easily to her.

Irritation certainly seemed to come fine though.

“It’s fine,” Shaw said, grating.

“Haven’t I seen you before?” Carter said, to Root. “Your face is…”

“Have been here before,” Root said. “Few weeks ago, now.”

“Reporting a crime?”

“Being arrested,” Root said.

She beamed, and tugged the collar of her top down to flash her tattoo: _you have the right to remain silent_.

Carter’s eyebrows shot up. For a moment it seemed like she wanted to laugh, and for another moment she seemed slightly judgemental, before she quickly schooled her expression.

“Can’t help who you love,” Root said: took and tapped Shaw’s hand. “Isn’t that right dear?”

Root was mildly impressed Shaw didn’t combust.

“Excuse me,” Shaw said, “I need to talk to my-” she gritted her teeth, “Girlfriend, alone for a moment.”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Carter said.

She looked between the two of them slowly. Maybe she could tell something was off: nonetheless she didn’t react. Maybe she just concluded it was down to how the two of them had met.

Shaw kept holding Root’s hand, squeezing just a little too tightly, leading her to a quieter side room filled mostly with filing cabinets.

The moment the door was closed, Shaw span on the spot and pinned Root against the filing cabinets. Root never lost her smirk: Shaw continued glaring.

“I’m going to _kill_ you,” she whispered, low and urgent. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Visiting my soulmate,” Root said. “Is that a problem?”

“When you tell my boss that we’re- Yes. It is.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour,” Root said. “You heard her. Now you have an excuse to hang around my place. Or spend the night if you really want to be thorough. Wouldn’t say no to a strip search.”

“So, is this your plan?” Shaw said. “Annoy me until I drop it, and you can do whatever you want? It’s not going to work, Root. I don’t care what you try, I’m going to catch you in the act. You’re not going to get rid of me.”

“Why would I want to get rid of you?” Root said. “You’re my soulmate, remember? I want you to stick around.”

“Sure you do,” Shaw said. “Hackers like you love having cops in their backyard.”

“I’ve gone straight, remember?” Root said. She smirked. “Admittedly not that straight. But how could I have done anything wrong?”

“I’m watching you,” Shaw said. “Remember what I said. The slightest misstep, I’m getting you back here.”

“Looking forward to it,” Root said.


	19. You Have the Right to Remain Silent 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw confronts Root.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more part left in this multi-part entry.

Root had just finished breaking into a company bank account when there was a knock at her door. Almost skipping she stood up, closed the door to her computer room behind her, and opened her front door.

Sameen Shaw was standing there. She threw a bouquet of flowers at Root: Root just about managed to catch them.

“Thank you,” Root said. “Didn’t know you cared.”

“You’re the one that sent them,” Shaw said. “I don’t want them. Do I look like I like flowers?”

“You might do,” Root said. “We hardly talk. How am I meant to know?”

“We don’t talk because we’re not friends,” Shaw said. “We’re not anything. You’re a criminal who got out on a technicality and who’s a breath away from going back in, that’s all.”

“And soulmates.”

“You can shut up about that,” Shaw said. “I don’t care what some words you’ve got scrawled on your chest say.”

“You’re the one that said them.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Shaw said. “Do you think we’re going to develop _anything_ like this?”

“We’ve got to,” Root said. “Destiny, and all.”

“So you’ve been acting like this because you think it doesn’t matter?” Shaw said. “Think I’ll just fall into your arms because of a little ink?”

“I’ve been acting like this because it’s fun,” Root said: smiled.

“Not for me.”

“You sure about that?”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Shaw said. “Announcing yourself as my girlfriend, sending me bright pink flowers, teddy bears, chocolates… Are you just trying to make everyone think I like the most cliché, most un-me kind of…”

“As opposed to what?” Root said. “Loving a hardened criminal? You’d prefer that?”

“I don’t love you.”

“I know,” Root said. “Read your file. You don’t feel much of anything, right?”

“About time you noticed.”

“But I figure,” Root said, “If you’ve got a soulmate, she’s got to be someone who can make you feel something. Not much of a soulmate otherwise. So, tell me, anyone made you feel as much as me?”

Root took a step closer. Shaw didn’t move.

“Feel what?” Shaw said. “Homicidal?”

“Murder’s a crime of passion,” Root said. Another step closer; her voice dropped. “That what you feel, Sameen? Passion?”

“Are you _serious_?” Shaw said.

“Sometimes,” Root said. “You didn’t answer.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said. “No, Root. No one has ever made me feel as annoyed, enraged, and downright murderous as you have. Happy?”

“Very.”

Root took a step back. Whatever she saw in Shaw’s expression had elicited yet another smirk. She gestured for Shaw to come in.

Shaw paused where she was for a moment. She’d barrelled over the threshold in an initial burst of anger, then hadn’t moved much.

Now, slowly, she went into Root’s apartment properly. She hit the door, and it swung shut behind her.

“Know where the story of soulmates came from?” Root said.

“I get the feeling you’re going to tell me,” Shaw said.

“Ancient Greece,” Root said. “Originally people looked different. Male, female, and androgynous: everyone with two sets of genitals, androgynous with both. Got to love the Greeks. Then Zeus split everyone up, leaving people like we see them today, struggling to survive and live without their other half.”

“I’m not particularly struggling,” Shaw said.

“Me neither,” Root said. “Stupid myth. I don’t think anyone’s got another half like that, no one completes you. We’re all complete as it is.”

“Then what was the point of the story?”

“Some people just complement each other,” Root said. “Criminal, cop, we’re perfect together, you’ve got to admit.”

“Damn it Root,” Shaw said. “You can’t just turn this into some stupid joke. I don’t know why you think it’s funny to pretend you-”

“You think I’m pretending?” Root said.

For a moment, Shaw paused.

She’d come in angry. So many little annoyances bubbling over until she’d had to confront Root. Somewhere along the line her anger had dissipated: not completely, but mostly.

Now she didn’t quite know how to react.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Shaw said, as though it were obvious.

“Why?” Root said.

“Because it’s what you do,” Shaw said. “Lie, distract, unnerve, get your way.”

“True,” Root said: and smiled. “But doesn’t everyone want a match? That’s one of the parts of the soulmate myth I like: if you’re my other half, then we’re equal. Evenly matched. No one better than the other. It’s refreshing.”

Shaw was never good when conversations took a turn for the emotional. She paused, and watched.

“You challenge me,” Root said: smiled. “First person to actually manage to track me down. And I’m pretty sure I challenge you, if your passion’s anything to go by.”

“Anger,” Shaw said.

“Passion,” Root said. “Crime of passion, remember?”

“And what makes you think I don’t know you’re lying?” Shaw said.

For the first time, Root faltered. She hadn’t exactly expected to be on Shaw’s good side: but equally, she wasn’t sure Shaw had much of a good side.

Mentally, she ran through a few possibilities. She could expect Shaw to take it on faith, but Shaw didn’t have much of that. Or she could take a risk.

A few seconds more of planning, and Root turned, and walked over to a small toolbox by her sofa. She reached in and pulled out a hammer.

“You want a reason to trust me?” Root said. “I’ll give you what you’re looking for.”

“I swear, if this is some other quip-”

“That door,” Root gestured, and handed the hammer to Shaw. “Go through. Do whatever you want.”

Uncertainly, Shaw obeyed. She walked cautiously to the door: nudged it open with the head of the hammer.

In the other room, there was a computer running atop a crowded desk. A bank account that definitely wasn’t Root’s was visible, and it was wired into several drives and devices that Shaw recognized as illegal.

She’d studied up while pursuing this case. Some hardware was illegal because of too high an encryption level, some could be used for dangerous purposes, some had no purpose other than to break the law.

Slowly, Shaw turned.

“Up to you,” Root said. “If you really want to be rid of me, call it in. If you like the challenge, stick around.”

A pause.

“I can’t let you keep getting away with this,” Shaw said.

“So, what’ll you do?”

Another pause.

Then Shaw took the option Root had apparently predicted. She lifted the hammer, and struck each bit of unwelcome hardware, finishing with Root’s laptop. When only shards were left she dropped the hammer, and turned back to face Root.

“Last warning,” she said.

A few seconds more, and Shaw walked out. Behind her, Root was smiling.


	20. You Have the Right to Remain Silent 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final part of this AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this requested follow-up. As ever, I take any requests for what AUs you want to see, or what expansions you're interested in.

Root knew she could get distracted. She’d been focused on bettering things with Shaw. As much as she’d enjoyed the pranks and playfulness, they wouldn’t last forever.

Well, they would, but she wanted to add a little extra. Wanted to actually get to know her soulmate.

Which was good, and it’d gone about as she’d hoped. She’d demonstrated she was genuine, made Shaw pause for thought, and got a brief reprieve.

Shaw’s good will hadn’t lasted long, but mostly because Root had popped by the station to talk to Carter and innocently inquire whether it was allowed to use police issue handcuffs for recreational purposes.

She was fairly sure Shaw nearly shot her. Still, Root rarely had regrets.

Even so, the cost of her brief bonding session with Shaw had been great: both figuratively and literally.

She still hadn’t finished paying back Elias for the hardware: and without the computers, she didn’t have the means to make more. She doubted he’d give her a brand new set.

Which did put her in somewhat of a troublesome situation. She’d missed a payment that morning. Given that she’d been arrested, and was being watched by a police officer, she doubted Elias would be in an especially charitable mood.

Problematic.

Loyalty had never been her strong point. Everyone knew that: she didn’t really have a reputation for respecting people. Humans were flawed. That certainly wouldn’t help matters.

Elias was a traditionalist, though. He’d wait for the cover of night. There was a reason that was a cliché.

Root sat down idly. After a few seconds she picked up her phone and dialled.

“Hey sweetie,” she said.

“Root,” Shaw said. “How did you get this- Never mind. Why are you calling?”

“Does a girl need a reason to call her soulmate?”

Shaw gave an exasperated sigh.

“I miss seeing your car,” Root said. “You always used to park outside. Hasn’t happened as much lately.”

“I was trusting you,” Shaw said. “Seemed like you were serious about going straight.”

“I’m not that str-”

“That wasn’t funny the first time,” Shaw said.

“I just wouldn’t mind seeing one of New York’s Finest keeping the streets safe,” Root said. “Sweetie, you’re certainly fine.”

“You liked me keeping tabs on you? Seriously?”

“Just doesn’t feel right without your car outside any more,” Root said.

She could almost picture Shaw’s eye roll.

“Is that it?” Shaw said.

“Does there need to be more?”

“Stop wasting my time, Root,” Shaw said.

Root chuckled.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” Root said.

Shaw hung up. Smiling, Root lay back on her sofa. She waited.

It was probably the best kind of thing she could have hoped for. A police officer for a soulmate. She didn’t know if it was ironic, or perfect.

And she did have to wonder about Shaw. A police officer whose soulmate was a criminal: that probably said something. Not many ways for it to go well, unfortunately.

She closed her eyes. By the time she woke up, it was starting to get dark. Curiously she went over to the window.

Shaw was parked outside. Root waved playfully: pressed her lips to her window, leaving a smear. Shaw lifted her middle finger.

It was oddly comforting to see her there.

Root didn’t shut the curtains that night, cracking open the window just slightly. She wandered over to her sofa and sat down. She wanted to read, or watch something, but it was hard to. She knew what she was waiting for.

Half an hour on, and he came. A scarred face, and a gun in one hand. Root was oddly flattered Elias sent someone so high-up to deal with her.

“You know why I’m here,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “Not going to beg, if that’s what you’re waiting for. One request, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t mess up the face,” she said. “Soulmate’s a cop. She’ll probably see the body, I want to leave a good impression.”

He snorted, lifted his gun, and fired once. Root slumped back on her sofa. He didn’t stay to watch.

The sound of the gunshot echoed. The sound resounded, making its way out through the open window, and out to the street outside. Shaw looked up sharply in her car, gaze immediately going to Root’s open window.

She saw the hitman from behind, and saw Root’s outline on the sofa. Immediately she got up.

By the time she was inside, he’d gone. For a few moments she considered following: then she want to Root, kneeling beside her.

Root had fallen to the floor, by then. She had both hands on her chest, where the bullet had struck. No blood had yet made it past them.

“Root?” Shaw said, urgently.

“Shaw,” Root said. “You came.”

“You knew this was going to happen?” Shaw said. “You could’ve at least said. NYPD can deal with a hired gun.”

“Wouldn’t have worked,” Root said.

She shifted: whimpered. Shaw moved to help with the wound, and Root shook her head.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “Where’s that stoic Sameen? He’s a professional. He wouldn’t miss. You can’t help me that way.”

“Professionals can make mistakes.”

“You almost sound like you want me to survive,” Root said.

“Is that seriously what you’re focusing on?” Shaw said.

“What else would you suggest?”

A pause. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she said: exhaled. “Fine. Root. You’re the most irritating, infuriating, frustrating, exasperating soulmate anyone could _possibly_ ask for.”

“But you’d miss me?”

Root looked up hopefully: weakly. Shaw faltered: then breathed out, slowly.

“Sure,” she said. “Sure, Root, I’d miss you.”

Root smiled, lay back, and closed her eyes.

For a second, Shaw just knelt there. She stared, knowing she should feel something. But then, feelings had never come easily to her.

Her eyes scanned Root. Her serene expression, her hands still surprisingly in position, over where the bullet had hit. Somehow, there was still no blood. And-

No blood?

“Gotcha,” Root opened one eye.

Shaw stared. Root shifted, standing up, wincing a little as the bullet dropped from her hands.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” Shaw honest-to-god growled.

“What?” Root said. “I got on Elias’s bad side, you think I wouldn’t wear a bulletproof vest?”

“And that whole act?”

“Would you have admitted how you felt otherwise?” Root said: smirked.

“I have half a mind to shoot you myself,” Shaw said.

Root was still smiling. She stretched out, then sat back down on her sofa. By now, she was used to seeing Shaw looking at her with that mix of incredulity and irritation.

“So you do care,” Root said. “Wouldn’t have bothered you if you didn’t care.”

Shaw glared. Her hand went warningly to her gun. Then:

“ _Elias_?” she said, “You deal with him?”

“Used to,” Root said. “Ended badly, as I’m sure the hitman attests.”

“You still worked for the most powerful mob boss in the city,” Shaw said.

“Not for,” Root said. “Well, usually not. I freelanced. He’s a good person to have owe you a favour, though.”

“Didn’t last.”

“Nope,” Root said. “Was never really that loyal to him though. You might be able to get some use out of that.”

There was a pause. Shaw slowly pieced together what Root was saying.

A lot of officers had criminal informants; people well-connected and well-paced in the criminal underworld. They could deliver tips, and point out a few hot spots the police might know of.

A hacker like Root, whose trade was primarily information, would certainly be valuable.

“You’re proposing turning?” Shaw said.

“Why not?” Root said: and beamed. “I missed out part of that soulmate story, by the way. You know why Zeus split everyone up into two bodies?”

“He got annoyed by them changing the subject?”

“He was scared,” Root said. “When they were together, people were powerful enough to threaten even the gods. Seems to me, if soulmates are two halves of the body coming together, we ought to be just as dangerous.”

“ _That_ I can get behind,” Shaw said.

“Soulmates are two people who join up to cause trouble,” Root said, cheerfully. “I thought you might.”


	21. Good to Hear You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw's opposed to the idea of having a soulmate. So's Root. This'll end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested story!  
> Well, kinda. Merged two ideas together because I thought they fit well. Enjoy!

Shaw took a pair of scissors to her new top. She was practised at the motion by now. There were a few shops that sold such items of clothing ready-made, but she preferred the homemade touch.

She slipped it on. It was plain, regular: and now had a hole cut just over her tattoo. _Good to hear you_ inked on her skin.

As far as she was concerned, it meant she didn’t have a soulmate. Anyone who said it probably read it; she could ignore them, and ignore her ‘real’ soulmate along with it.

She wasn’t the only one who shared that view. There were always a few on the street, but she found online communities that were far more open about it.  

She joined one when she was young, a couple of weeks after being diagnosed with her disorder. Plenty of neurotypical people took issue with the ideas of a soulmate, but there was an understandable correlation between those who questioned the concept, and those who didn’t really feel.

Still, the place appealed to her. It was good to have somewhere she could get away from the normal talk and obsession with the idea.

Part of the rules were to not share the words on your tattoo: the idea was to act as though they didn’t exist, and to do away with the ‘what could that mean?’ discourse that dogged so many other discussions.

Her screen-name was simple: SShaw. A lot of the others on the forum took more decorative aliases. She found her suited her, especially after the years went by. The forum was for all ages and, even as she had less available time, Shaw often returned to it.

After one particularly frustrating day, she started a topic about the variations in tattoo style.

Not everyone had the same colour, for example. Typically it was whatever shade on the grey spectrum stood out most against skin colour, but variations had been identified, with speculated causes.

Some might be urban legends, some might be fake; the more creditable cases though probably indicated a non-romantic soulmate.

It just went to show how limiting the concept was. A lot of people simply wouldn’t have the kind of partner people proposed. As all the variations in tattoos weren’t understood, though, it was entirely possible even though-classical designs could be meaningless.

It had been little more than a vent, and she’d gone to sleep after. When she’d idly checked in the morning, the thread had become fairly popular.

Not everyone on the forum felt the same. Some did believe in soulmates, but rebelled against the concept on principle: others believed the tattoos were a genetic fluke people just interpreted a certain way. Only some would have agreed with Shaw’s premise.

One of the more active posters in that thread had the screen-name of Root, who’d offered a few extra sources to back up what Shaw had said. Shaw responded with a thank you, not particularly interested in getting involved in a debate. She dealt with enough of that.

The next time she checked her email, she’d been sent a private message by Root.

_Like your opinions, but you don’t seem to be around so much. Would you like to stay in contact? No pressure, but let me know_.

Shaw contemplated before responding. There were always a few creeps on the anti-soulmate boards who insisted the users just had to ‘find the right person,’ or trying to be the ‘right’ person.

Root, at least, seemed genuine. And she was right, Shaw didn’t have the time to be as active as she used to be, but she did like the idea of having a like-minded person to talk to.

She typed back an agreement, and sent her email address. Root replied with her Skype address, for instant messaging.

Shaw went with it. It was easier to talk when she knew there’d be a fast reply.

_Root: Hey there_

_SShaw: Hey._

_SShaw: You’re not going to do anything stupid and say that’s your tattoo are you?_

_Root: I’m not one of those, you don’t have to worry._

_Root: It’s not. Wouldn’t work like that anyway. Usually has to be the first words they say to you. Typing wouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t make sense anyway, you don’t have to read a phrase in order._

_SShaw: You’ve thought about this a lot._

_Root: I think about things I disagree with. Need to work out why some people believe in them, at least._

_SShaw: Any luck?_

_Root: Left thinking what I always thought. People are broken._

_Root: That’s the one part of the soulmate thing that rings true. I just don’t think adding one other person is going to make a bit of difference._

_SShaw: That’s the part I think is nonsense. We’re complete._

_Root: Completeness implies perfection. There’s always room for improvement, and a lot of it. Just not going to result from meeting someone._

_SShaw: Agreed on that, at least._

Shaw leant back from her computer. It was refreshing to talk to another cynic.

They chatted like that for a few days. Sometimes it started with discussion of soulmates: Root was more interested in the concept than Shaw. Shaw just wanted a place where they weren’t expected.

Root might bring up a popular thread. She seemed interested by the less typical cases: people who couldn’t speak, or couldn’t hear, and how their tattoos were marked.

Shaw changed the topic. As far as she was concerned, no matter what a soulmate promised, the idea was meaningless.

As such, they started talking about more, beyond that initial scope. Shaw heard about Root’s background: her work, acquaintances (she never said ‘friend’), interests…

Root, in turn, heard about Shaw. Lack of emotion, lack of a social circle, just getting through med school… She’d appreciated the irony: the doctor who inherently couldn’t care about life.

_Root: Want to take care of the elephant in the room?_

_SShaw: I wasn’t aware there was one._

_Root: We could be soulmates, sweetie._

_SShaw: Very funny._

There was a pause for a few seconds.

_Root: I mean it. We’ve never spoken. You never know. We wouldn’t have to meet: you just need to hear my voice live, and you’ll know._

_SShaw: Or I could never hear your voice. Problem solved._

_Root: Wouldn’t it be easier to be sure?_

_SShaw: What do you have in mind?_

A moment later, and a request for a video call came through. Shaw considered: then clicked accept.

Her internet connection wasn’t great. It was a few seconds before the window opened properly, and another few before a black frame gave way to a pixelated image.

Dark hair, an impish smile, wide eyes. She wore a top like Shaw’s: cut to show her tattoo. Even so, it was hard to read through their pixelated connection. It was short, though, couldn’t be more than two or three words. Easy enough to ensure she didn’t say that.

A moment before Shaw could speak, Root let out an utterly bloodcurdling scream. Shaw winced, waiting for the shriek to die down. It was made marginally more unpleasant by the audio coming through in stops and starts, crackling, pausing, then screeching again.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Shaw said.

A couple of seconds: then Root chuckled.

“Just checking,” she said. “Guess you’re not my soulmate. But would’ve loved it if you were, always wondered how something like that would be tattooed.”

“Could’ve warned me,” Shaw said.

“Aww, scared?”

“Annoyed,” Shaw said.

It was a pain talking through the delay. Still, she figured it answered that one question.

“What would’ve you have done if we were?” Root said. She tilted her head, almost mischievous.

“We’re not,” Shaw said.

“If we were.”

Shaw shrugged. “Treat you like every other potential. Doesn’t matter. You?”

“Be happy,” Root said.

“Seriously.”

“I’m serious,” Root said. “You’d be better than most. Besides, I’m not opposed to the idea of having a soulmate, so long as they’re a good fit. I just don’t want a choice made for me.”

“Definitely wouldn’t be cliché,” Shaw said.

Not much could be. A relationship with someone who couldn’t love back?

“Best things aren’t,” Root said. She paused; her expression glitched into something distasteful. “Want to switch to phone? This connection is terrible.”

“Sure,” Shaw said.

It was a little while after she spoke that the video call froze, then cut off. A moment later, and Root sent her number over the messaging side.

Shaw did have to admit, it was a pain to have to keep talking through delays and frozen seconds. That, and she did like her exchanges with Root.

She was fairly sure she knew what Root was getting at too. Root had never been the most subtle, when it came to flirting. And she wasn’t particularly opposed, once they got past the minefield of soulmates.

A lot of people dated even with people they knew they weren’t ‘meant for.’ All the more so in the online communities Shaw frequented.

She dialled up the number Root had sent her. Part of her wondered how long it’d take for Root to actually come out and say it.

“Good to hear you,” Root’s voice came through the phone, mildly breathy.

Shaw nearly dropped the receiver.

“Very funny,” Shaw said.

A pause. Root sounded mildly shaken when she spoke again.

“Why did you say that?” Root said.

“Your joke,” Shaw said. “I’m not an idiot. You read my tattoo over the call.”

“Your-” Root began: paused. “I couldn’t read yours. Could see a blur, but that was all. The connection was terrible. Why, did you read mine?”

“Read yours?” Shaw said. “What’s yours?”

“’Very funny,’” Root quoted. “You just said it. You had to have-”

Shaw froze. For a moment, she glared at her computer as though it was to blame.

“Doesn’t mean anything, though,” Shaw said. “Not the first words we said to each other. That’s what matters.”

“Unless…”

“Seriously, Root?” Shaw said. “If you want to date or whatever the hell you’re after you just have to ask, you don’t need to go through the motions of-”

“I’m not!” Root said: hesitated. “Well, I was going to ask you, but… You know what I said? Soulmate marks come from live exchanges. You have to hear it more or less as I say it, you couldn’t get a tattoo from a recording. With how laggy that call was…”

_Seriously?_ Shaw bit back a curse.

“If this is some joke-” Shaw began.

“It’s not,” Root said. “I mean, I love my share of pranks, but this isn’t one of them.”

Just when she’d had a few seconds to mull over the idea of being with Root. Soulmate via the universe playing a trick on them.

Damn it.

“Don’t hang up,” Root said.

“I wasn’t going to,” Shaw said.

Root breathed out, relieved. “So, want to give this a go?”

“You’re asking me _now_?”

“When else would you suggest?” Root said. “I was going to before I found out. And sounded like you want me to. So seems like the best time, really.”

Shaw paused for a few seconds: closed her eyes.

“It’s just coincidence,” Shaw said, after a moment. “The video call didn’t lag that much.”

“That what you want to believe?” Root said.

“It’s what happened,” Shaw said.

“Sure thing,” Root said. “That a yes?”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Sure, Root. It’s a yes.”


	22. Pride and Prejudice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root's giving a speech on soulmates: Shaw's a reluctant attendee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidental seduction via philosophy. Enjoy!

Shaw didn’t have many friends. Well, she didn’t have many people she’d call friends. She had a lot of people who might call her a friend.

It was an unfortunate side effect of saying yes to most events that involved alcohol. Her housemate Reese led to his boss Harold, led to his wife Grace, and an ever-expanding social circle was born from a desire for vodka.

Reese she just about got on with. They both had taciturn sides, both didn’t like to dedicate unnecessary energy with getting to know people.

They got together a lot. Shaw made no secret about the fact she was there for the drinks: then again, she was sometimes entertained. There was that night Harold had accidentally had her vodka instead of his water.

A drunk Harold was quite an impressive sight. He’d given a few lines of a song before toppling into his pool; Shaw had glimpsed the outlines of two tattoos on his chest through his sodden shirt.

Did explain why otherwise-withdrawn Reese spent so much time with Harold and Grace.

Grace was the one who tried to befriend Shaw. She was the one who brought up soulmates. She was an artist, Shaw should’ve expected she’d be a romantic too.

When Harold gave a speech at a TED Talk-type conference, they all went with him. Reese seemed interested in a few topics, surprising Shaw. Grace was the one that convinced Shaw to go with her.

“I’ve heard good things about her,” Grace said. “Forefront of her field, and a good speaker.”

“What’s the topic?”

“Soulmates,” Grace said.

Shaw nearly left there and then.

“Just listen,” Grace said. “This one talk, and I’ll never talk to you again about them, if you don’t want to.”

Grace did have a fondness for matchmaking. She’d asked to see Shaw’s tattoo a few times, to see if she could work out who might say that. Shaw had never acquiesced.

 _I love puns_. Shaw really didn’t want to meet any of Grace’s pun-loving friends. Her usual reaction to puns was a groan.

“You don’t want a Mr Darcy?” Grace said.

“Enough with the Austen references,” Shaw said. “And I don’t want an Elizabeth Bennet either.”

“Mr Darcy is the classic,” Grace said. “I’m proud you recognized the reference though.”

“You keep talking about Austen,” Shaw said.

“Harold proposed with Sense and Sensibility,” Grace said. “They have fond associations.”

“Not to me,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Grace said. “It’s why I think you’ll like the talk.”

Shaw had sighed, and agreed. She could sit through one talk if that was what it took.

And, to be honest, she was academically interested. Only slightly, but still. People made such a big deal about soulmates and other results of emotions, and they made very little sense to her.

That was how Shaw came to be sitting next to Grace, a fair way back in a crowded audience. Of the few talks Shaw had attended, none had been quite as packed as this one.

Apparently this one was popular. Grace hadn’t lied when she’d said the speaker was good.

A few minutes more, and she walked out onto the stage. She looked oddly small, given the size of the room. There was polite applause: she stood there, and waited.

She began by looking around and surveying the audience, waiting for the noise to die down. When it did, she began.

“I love puns,” she said. “That’s probably not an accepted reason for getting into a field, but it worked for me. Soulmates, sole-mates, s-o-u-l, s-o-l-e, not accurate strictly speaking, but appealing. So, I’m here to talk to you about the concept of soulmates.”

Shaw stiffened, and sat stock-still throughout much of her introductory preamble.

She gave her name, her preferred nom de plume (Root), her background in computing, her initial scepticism… Shaw barely moved an inch.

Grace looked sideways at her, curiously.

“Now then,” Root continued, “There are a lot of interesting questions that can be asked about our tattoos. Where do they come from? Are they, as the Greeks believed, Aphrodite and Apollo’s gift for artists to find their muses? Are they the work of God to prevent premarital sex by ensuring everyone is with only one person? Are they a covenant with the Goddess: a promise that we will meet someone who’ll enrich our lives? Or are they just a fact of the universe?”

She smiled to herself.

“If you’re like me, you might have thought about abusing the system,” Root said. “What if, for example, you met your soulmate, they said the phrase on your heart, and you proceeded to look at their tattoo and say the wrong thing. What then? Some believe that’d be that and you’d have evaded destiny, some believe someone else will come up to you and say the same phrase the next day, and the day after, and the day after that… Some believe the universe will end. Some think that’s already happened.”

Shaw did have to admit, Root was a good speaker. She wasn’t exactly interested in the subject matter, but Root did make it almost spellbinding. Something about her stage presence.

“All that aside,” Root said, “What is known is this: it’s impossible to ignore your tattoo. People have tried, but you always meet someone who says what’s tattooed on your chest.”

She had that right. Shaw didn’t know quite what to think about that particular titbit. What was she meant to do? One person in a crowd could hardly get her attention.

And for that matter, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She could walk out after the speech and no one would know any better. Even if Root seemed to be implying that was impossible. Shaw almost wanted to leave just to spite the universe.

“Not everyone’s happy with this,” Root said. “You can kinda see why. Where’s the freedom? Where’s the choice? Who’s to say that you have to live in white-picket-fence bliss with that one person of all people? Whatever happened to free will?”

She paused at that: gauged the audience. Shaw tried not to meet her eyes.

“Firstly, sorry to burst your bubble,” Root said. “Free will’s an illusion. It’s all programming. You were born with hardware you didn’t choose, running a program before you were aware to choose it. There’s no room for choice. We might not be easy to predict, but any programmer knows how to add a random variable to code. There was never any room for choice.”

Root glanced around again, apparently trying to see if she needed to go into any more detail.

Shaw would admit she was a good speaker, and smart too, but Shaw was fairly sure Root already know that. She did give that impression. Most people didn’t seem to have noticed that she was likely bored.

Of course she was. If she was an expert, she wouldn’t want to be explaining such accessible areas.

“However, that’s not to say there isn’t some freedom,” Root said. “There’s no one way to have a soulmate. Some people live the cliché. Some people have a strictly platonic relationship with their soulmate: some have a strictly sexual one. Some people have more than one soulmate. Some people only have one, but nonetheless have an open relationship. Most date before they meet their soulmate: some might end the relationship they’re in the moment they hear those words, some might wait it out.”

Somewhere along the line, Shaw had ended up engaged. She was glad Grace had become as enthralled, though, as distracted; she didn’t want Grace noticing she was interested.

She also didn’t want Grace to think about why Shaw might be looking so disconcerted.

Root was more bearable than Shaw might have expected. There was something to be said for someone who could find a topic and actually be interested in it: there was more to be said for someone expressive.

And, if nothing else, it was good to hear she wouldn’t be expected to have anything as sappy as Harold and Grace even if she did have a soulmate.

“By its very definition, a soulmate is a perfect match,” Root said. “It literally cannot go wrong. If you want the TV cliché, so will they. If you hate cats, for some unfathomable reason, they won’t want one as a pet. If you like disagreement, don’t expect someone who has much in common with you. A soulmate isn’t an ‘other half:’ it’s a complement. Turing and codes, Bonnie and Clyde, PB and J.”

Some people chuckled at the momentary levity. Shaw suppressed a mild smile.

“Now then, what about the tattoos?” Root said. “Where they come from is one of those mysteries we’ll probably never figure out. What they mean is obvious. But what about practicalities?”

Unconsciously, Shaw shifted. She listened. As reluctantly interested as she was, though, it was hard to ignore that slightly smug edge to Root’s tone. She was prideful, because she felt she deserved to be.

Shaw could hardly begrudge her that, it seemed as though she’d spent a lot of time in the field, but she’d always been less than happy with people who were used to being right.

“Everyone should be fascinated by the idea,” Root said. “What kind of person complements them? What kind of life would they lead? Would they have the relaxed, peaceful retirement they’d hoped for, or should they expect something different? Would they agree on everything, or argue constantly? Remember, there’s no one way to have a soulmate. Everyone’s different, so everyone’s soulmate will be different too.”

Somehow, Shaw had actually become intrigued by the idea. She turned her gaze away from the stage, to glare briefly at Grace.

Grace didn’t notice, too distracted by the speech. Shaw couldn’t blame her. Root certainly knew how to catch an audience’s attention.

If nothing else, she knew she and Root wouldn’t be one of those couples that agreed on everything.

“What about me?” Root said. “I can say this: be careful. If you want to be sure you meet the right person, respond uniquely whenever you hear the words in your tattoo. If everyone follows that rule, there’ll be a lot less confusion. Some people give their name, some people just pick a password. For the many of you who’ve no doubt fallen for me, I’d suggest the latter. Like most public figures, I’ve had mine removed so that no one can abuse the system. Sorry.”

She smirked playfully. Shaw almost wanted to speak up just to see how she’d react: maybe even catch her off-guard. Surely anything she’d say would count?

But a password? Somehow that made it trickier. Her mind went blank, even knowing that whatever she said would have to be accurate.

Honestly, she still didn’t know what she thought of soulmates. She wasn’t enthralled by the prospect, but nor was she as opposed as she had been before. Maybe that’d wear off by the time she walked outside and the effect of the speech wore off.

For as long as she was in here, though, she could wonder.

“Now, I hope you’ve enjoyed this brief introduction,” Root said. “Here’s your generic closing speech. Thank you to very few of the people quoted in the programme: most are just there to fill up space, you’ve been about average as an audience, because really, audiences aren’t always better than every one that’s come before, and enjoy the rest of your day.”

She glanced at her watch.

“This is only an overview,” Root said. “There’s a lot more depth that’s gone into studying the technicalities. What defines the length of their ‘first words?’ What would happen if you tried to create a paradox by saying the wrong words, or if you tried to send a message back to change the past? There’s a lot of study still going on. Now, to fill up our last few minutes, does anyone have any questions?”

Someone near the front asked something very technical-sounding. Root launched into a reply, complete with jargon Shaw didn’t even wasn’t to try to understand.

Apparently this was the point where actual experts in the field started to speak up. Shaw heard a couple of people who sounded more like amateurs, and Root answered them just as plainly, but it seemed to be taken up mostly by people who already dedicated a lot of time to reading about soulmates.

“So?” Grace said, softly, to Shaw. “What did you think?”

Shaw hesitated.

“…Interesting,” she said, eventually.

“Liked it more than you expected, then,” Grace said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Isn’t that what ‘interesting’ means?” Grace said. “It can be very hard to work out what you mean when you keep being so curt.”

Shaw said nothing. Grace sighed.

“Got to be at least curious about a Mr Darcy though,” she said.

“It’s not going to be Mr Darcy,” Shaw said.

“Or whoever,” Grace said. “Any preferences?”

Shaw was going to give her typical, non-committal response when she hesitated. Sometime she’d decided that she didn’t just want to walk out of the auditorium without at least making sure.

She’d give Root that. She was intriguing.

Slightly irate, Shaw tilted her neck back and yanked her collar down, for the first time displaying her tattoo to Grace.

It took maybe a second or so for her to recognize the phrase. Then Grace was beaming.

Before she could say anything more, Shaw stuck her hand up. Root picked her, next, to ask a question. It saved Grace speaking.

Shaw paused for a few moments. She’d wanted to speak, but she still wasn’t entirely sure what to say. As far as passwords went, she’d figured out Harold’s on a bored afternoon: he and Grace liked their Austen references. Copying them might just be the easiest way to go. Still, eight letters might be too generic.

Then again, Grace had been talking about Darcy often enough.

“Pride and Prejudice,” Shaw said, picking a title at random.

It was oddly gratifying to see the sheer shock cross Root’s face.


	23. I'm Going to Kill You 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw's been hired to kill a politician. Root's been hired to defend him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two-part ficlet this time. Went a bit long for just a one-parter, and had a fairly good natural break.

Shaw had been hired to kill a slightly sleazy politician. Nothing new there. What was new, was said politician hiring someone actually competent to defend them.

Security cameras were better hidden than usual. She had to actually take a few seconds to place them: and it turned out even that wasn’t good enough.

An alarm went off, and Shaw instantly changed her plan. If there was no subtle way to sneak in, then she’d kick up a fuss and scare him out. When he was trying to get away, that was her opening.

Most politicians who’d offended the kind of person who’d send a hitwoman, also tended to have access to less conventional ‘security advisors’ or fixers. It was surprisingly hard to find a competent fixer though; they got paid whether or not their client lived, and who’d be around to spread bad publicity?

If there was a good internal security net, that was likely the fixer’s expertise.

She fired twice at a window, before swiftly changing positions. It was unlikely she’d managed a clean strike, she was never that lucky, but a few bullets did a remarkable job at scrambling up someone’s thinking.

The door opened: a cloaked figured hurrying to a car. Easier to flee than stay in an assailed building Perfect.

Shaw fired. The figure toppled, and she caught a glimpse of wheels: not a person, then, a mannequin made to distract.

Then it exploded. Shaw ducked back behind cover, glad she wasn’t one of those hitwoman who favoured a close-range kill. What kind of fixer suggested a fake escape?

A competent one, of course. Just her luck.

The one advantage, though, was it meant the front door had to be unlocked. Shaw snuck inside silently, effortlessly incapacitating the few guards nearby.

It was easy enough to make it through the building. Political offices weren’t really built for security. And as no one stayed conscious long enough to alert anyone else, her target wouldn’t know she was in the building.

She made it to his office, and burst inside with her gun raised. It was the obvious place to look: it was also empty.

Shaw stepped inside, keeping her gun-arm up, turning on the spot in case someone might be hiding behind the door.

A door which quickly slammed shut: some primitive motor installed in the hinges. Shaw tensed immediately, looking around. Her attention was drawn to the bookcase.

Normally bookcases were just meant for decoration. Politicians didn’t have any opportunity to read during solid hours of meetings, and if they did they wouldn’t go for such dry, dusty volumes as those. As such, they’d be arranged for aesthetic value, and dust would build up.

There was no dust, and a distinct, haphazard look to them. Shaw stepped closer: nudged a book to the side with the tip of her gun.

A plastic explosive was set to the back. Shaw took a hasty step back, swearing, and looking around.

The door had sealed itself: and she could see, now, that the window was bulletproof. Whoever they’d hired had done a real number on the place.

It was then she noticed the computer come to life. Shaw quickly moved in front of it: looked at the embedded camera. She knew enough to figure that the fixer was on the other side, no doubt wanting to look at their victory.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you,” Shaw said, simply.

“There’s a step missing in that plan,” a woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Namely, getting out of there.”

And Shaw tried not to think about how she had those words tattooed on her chest. Which meant- so, did this fixer have her backtalk tattooed on her as well?

It didn’t seem to bother her. Likely she wasn’t perturbed by the idea of killing her soulmate; Shaw might, if she were paid to. Still, she wasn’t going to resort to begging.

“Just watch me,” Shaw said.

She took a step back, without a clue of what to do.

The door was shut, and likely reinforced. The window was bulletproof: and while, at short range, bullets should definitely be able to crack it, she probably didn’t have enough to do any serious damage. That, and it’d still leave her with a fatal drop.

“I am,” the fixer said. “Enjoying myself too. Tell you what, let’s make this more interesting.”

A timer on the explosive Shaw uncovered flickered to life. _1:30_. It started counting down.

“Let me guess,” Shaw said, “Building’s empty, except for any expendable personnel. Target went out early looking like an aide, left his office light on.”

“Very good,” the fixer said. “And this’ll look like a terrorist attack, which easily swings into gaining sympathy votes. Neat, really.”

_1:02_

_1:01_

Shaw turned her attention back to the bookcase. She pulled more off it: books, a bust, all manner of faux-respectable decoration concealing yet more explosives. Definitely enough to destroy most of the building.

She tried the door, not really expecting it to work.

“You could hit that with a car and it wouldn’t break,” the fixer offered. “Let me save you some time.”

“Forgive me if I don’t listen to anything you say,” Shaw said.

“Looked like you could do with a little help.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, and went over to the bombs. They were a crude design: chemical mixture that could be triggered by impart or any electrical spark. No doubt the timer counted down to the latter.

Nothing special, but they didn’t need to be. Maybe even homemade; that was certainly the cheapest way to cook up this much of the stuff.

“Takes me four seconds to disarm one of those,” the fixer said, “And I know what I’m doing. Eighteen times four gives one minutes twelve. You might’ve stood a chance if you’d gone for disarming as soon as you’d gotten in here.”

“More explosives than just the bookcase, though,” Shaw said.

“Of course,” the fixer said. “And one going off will trigger the rest.”

“Only if they’re close.”

_0:18_

_0:17_

Shaw cast her eyes around the room again. Nope, no easier way.

She pulled one of the smaller-looking explosives from the back of the bookcase, weighing it in her hand. It was hard to gauge just how much damage it’d do.

That was the real problem with dealing with things that weren’t professional grade. They were unpredictable: if this was military standard just one would send a shockwave throughout the room, and what she was going to do would likely kill her.

It looked homemade: and so there was a chance it wasn’t as powerful as it could be.

She shot one last look at the computer: “I’m going to find you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

_0:10_

_0:09_

Shaw stood behind the desk, and threw the explosive at the window. As soon as it got close, she shot at it, and ducked down-

It detonated, and cracks immediately started to run through the reinforced glass. Shaw didn’t have time to sigh in relief: it hadn’t been powerful enough to detonate the other explosives in the room when it was that far from them.

_0:07_

_0:06_

She lifted the chair, and ran for the window: struck it as hard as she could. The first explosive had already done most of the damage, and she didn’t feel lucky enough to risk throwing another.

The cracks gave way quickly, leaving Shaw with just a fatal drop.

_0:02_

Shaw leapt from the window, flipping and trying to keep the chair underneath her. She was still a few metres from the ground when she heard the explosion.

She didn’t look up, bracing herself: and the chair shattered on impact with the ground. Thankfully it took the brunt of the force, leaving Shaw to grunt, and carefully pick herself up.

Limping slightly, she hurried away. There was already the sound of police sirens.

She found her target politician eventually. Evidently they figured they wouldn’t need to worry, if they hadn’t heard of a second killer being sent after them. They’d counted on the first dying in the explosion.

He was rather surprised to find her waiting in his office with a gun, a blowtorch, and a question.

She came away with a name: Root. The fixer who’d almost killed her and, apparently, who was her soulmate.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she planned to do. She didn’t like the idea of having a potential foe out there who might prove a challenge: just as she didn’t like the idea of a competent enemy who might decide she was a loose end.

Being a soulmate complicated matters. She’d never been a fan of the concept but, well, it was something unique. And if it meant the fixer could conceivably be an ally, Shaw wouldn’t refuse.

That was a question for another day, though. First, she had to find Root.


	24. I'm Going to Kill You 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be vewy vewy qwiet, Shaw's hunting Woots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And part 2 to finish the last entry!

Shaw didn’t have a particular aptitude for computers. She could, however, point a gun at people who _did_ , until they got her an IP address and a location.

A day later, and she’d followed Root’s digital footprints back to a caravan in a different state.

She went in, gun raised as ever. She was almost pleased to find it empty; this would have been disappointingly easy otherwise.

She’d opened the door from a distance to avoid any traps, before sneaking in after. It seemed to be clean of explosives, or anything similarly lethal. There was, however, another laptop that came to life as she entered.

“You always burst into a girl’s bedroom like this?” Root’s voice came over the speaker.

Shaw suppressed the urge to shoot the laptop. It might be worth finding another tech guy to trace it. As good as Root’s skills seemed to be, very little compared to the sheer motivation offered by the barrel of a gun.

Root couldn’t keep moving. Shaw would run her to ground, sooner or later.

She scanned the caravan, in the admittedly unlikely hope a clue might have been left behind.

“Don’t ignore me, Sameen.”

Shaw glanced sharply at the computer.

“Yep, I know who you are,” Root said. “Had to find out who it was that survived my little trap. Have to say, I’m kinda a fan.”

“How about you give me your address?” Shaw said. “Might even give you my signature if you do.”

“Tempting,” Root said. “But I don’t think so. Consider this a freebie. Won’t be as easy if you decide to keep on looking.”

“You think that’ll stop me?”

“Probably not,” Root said. “But it’d be a shame to lose such talent.”

There was a positively lascivious edge to her tone, then. Shaw did a brief double take; was she really flirting in the middle of a conversation featuring mutual murder threats?

Well, soulmate, it was probably expected.

“Guess I can expect you to keep trying,” Root said. Shaw couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or pleased.

“Of course,” Shaw said: walked in front of the laptop. “See you soon.”

There was the sound of Root blowing a kiss, before the connection shut down. Shaw took the laptop with her, and, ah, convinced an IT expert to track the source of the last communication.

The next caravan she went to exploded. Thankfully, like before, she’d opened the door and triggered the trap from a distance.

Still, she could recover a few bits and pieces from the wreckage. The hard drive was irreparable, but the license plate wasn’t. She tracked down its source, and eventually found a security footage picture of the buyer.

As soulmates went, Shaw wouldn’t complain.

Forcing her way to see the security footage proved beneficial as well. Root had driven up in another car, whose license plate she could track down.

As she travelled to it, she was able to get a ‘friend’ to run facial recognition on the photo. At last she had an identity that was more concrete than ‘Root:’ Samantha Groves, childhood IT prodigy who’d vanished in the last few years.

The car she eventually found in a junkyard, recently abandoned. She didn’t know if that was because Root was worried about being followed, or if she regularly switched up transport.

There was nothing left behind in the car. Anything of value had been stripped away: whatever else Root was, she was certainly thorough.

Shaw was almost enjoying herself.

She took a brief break in a motel, keeping on the road. Her laptop camera sparked to life almost as soon as she turned it on.

“Still looking, I hear,” Root said. “Makes a girl feel all warm and fuzzy.”

“Do I want to ask how you found me?” Shaw said.

“Stolen facial recognition software uploaded into a few choice security systems,” Root said, absently. “Not really complaining about the chance to watch you.”

“Could return the favour sometime, Samantha.”

For a moment, Root was silent. Then, a chuckle:

“Root, please,” she said. “I’m kinda impressed. This _is_ fun, isn’t it?”

“I’m planning on something a lot more fun,” Shaw said.

“I’m sure you are,” Root said. “There you go again, making me all curious. I have a professional reputation though, you know? Can’t go being found so easily.”

“The longer I have to wait, the more time I’ve got to plan what I’m going to do to you.”

Shaw wasn’t entirely sure she was still threatening. Weeks to mull the idea over, a soulmate had a certain appeal, especially someone like this.

“Promises, promises.”

Shaw left that laptop behind when she moved on. She had gotten one good bit of information from the junkyard, however; the place the car had been picked up.

If Root was as thorough as it sounded, she’d have likely arranged for it to be stolen. That wasn’t as good at covering tracks as people thought, though.

If it had been taken for a joyride, the car thief would still need to walk home. Cross reference the car’s location with local hotspots for such crimes, cross reference _those_ locations with car dealerships as Root would still have needed to pick up new transport…

People like Root, and Shaw for that matter, needed to stay on the road. Staying in one place was just putting a target on your back. It wasn’t perfect though: and Shaw knew all the tricks.

It just meant she had to follow by different means.

When the car dealerships didn’t pan out, she spent a fun couple of weeks taking taxi rides and putting a gun to the back of every driver’s head until one recognized Root’s photo. It didn’t take too long; the same driver never picked her up more than once.

From that she could work out where Root had really gone, and went to the dealerships in walking distance of that area, successfully finding out what Root had bought.

It wasn’t efficient, but it was a start. Root could always move on faster than Shaw could follow: but it definitely kept Root distracted.

The number of conversations Root had started, popping up on any computer Shaw used to taunt and tease and flirt, it was clear Root was keeping tabs on her. Shaw could take advantage of that.

After three months of pursuit, she stole another computer to send an email to a friend the other side of the country. Cole would seek the services of a fixer with a situation tailored to Root’s expertise.

Root would accept. She wouldn’t expect a trap: Shaw’s and Cole’s connections weren’t stored anywhere online.

As far as Root was concerned, Shaw was still tracking her down via a chain of used cars. She’d also be busy with talks with Cole: they wouldn’t meet in person, but Cole would try to trace her.

He’d fail, Shaw expected that, but she could get a location.

Shaw used the location she had Root placed at, from following the car trail, and that Cole had found from the online trace. Looking at a map, she looked for any sources of caravans between the two.

Root seemed to prefer to work in them. Compact, all the comforts of home without needing to leave the same room as the computer screen. Plus portable, and easy to change up: both valuable commodities in her line of work.

Root would move on, but she’d need her car first. She’d have parked it near wherever she’d picked up the caravan. Cross reference with long-term car parking…

Shaw spent the night camped out above a car park. Eight hours on, Root came into view.

She stiffened so beautifully when Shaw pressed her gun to the back of her head.

“Get into the car,” Shaw said, low. “Back seat.”

Hands raised just slightly, Root obeyed. Shaw waited for her to slide across, and got in too.

This way no one was near the wheel; they were out of view, but not going anywhere.

“Told you I’d find you,” Shaw said.

It was a few moments before Root responded. She did seem surprised.

Shaw was somewhat gratified about that. It had been challenging, exhausting, frustrating, and above all utterly fun to try to track her down. It was good to see that she’d managed some small victory.

“You did,” Root said, after a moment. “I’m glad you keep your promises.”

“I think it was more of a threat,” Shaw said.

“Did have that feel to it.”

Shaw let her gun move forward: pressed the cold metal to Root’s throat. She arched just slightly, lifting her chin and closing her eyes as though ecstatic at the feel of it.

At least she wasn’t one of those targets that got all weepy and desperate the moment they were in danger. Shaw could respect that.

Still, there was one thing she had to confirm. She pushed the barrel closer: then tugging it down, bringing Root’s neckline with it.

_When I get out of here, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you_ tattooed into her perfect skin. Shaw smiled to herself, withdrawing, and keeping her gun raised.

“What, that?” Root said. “Hear it a lot. What’s your point?”

Shaw hesitated.

“Remember when we first spoke?”

“Of course,” Root said. “You stood out. You said that too, right? And I said, ooh, what was it?”

_There’s a step missing in that plan_ , Shaw used her free hand to unbutton her top. Root raised her eyebrows.

“Fancy that,” she said.

Shaw paused.

“You didn’t know?” Shaw said.

“How would I know?” Root said. “A lot of people threaten to kill me. Perk of the job. Why? Did you think-”

Root cut herself off: raised her eyebrows, evidently amused. Then she tilted her head, contemplative, increasingly less intimidated by the gun.

“Wait,” Shaw said, “So when you kept contacting me, talking to me, flirting with me- You didn’t know we were soulmates, and you thought I was coming to kill you?”

“Your point?”

Shaw wasn’t entirely sure she knew any more.

“So, you _don’t_ want to kill me?” Root said. “Is that what I can take away from the gun pointed at my head?”

“I was going to,” Shaw said: paused. “But this _was_ fun.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Root smiled fondly.

“Originally, I just planned to find you, and hurt you,” Shaw said. “I still could.”

Root beamed.

“I would have been a little disappointed if you didn’t manage to find me,” Root admitted. “Kinda like having a nemesis.”

“Is that what we are?”

“Well, you’re not quite my equal, but close enough.”

“I could still shoot you,” Shaw said.

“You won’t.”

“Very confident for someone who didn’t expect to end the night with a gun to their head.”

“If you went through all this to find your soulmate, you’re not going to hurt me.”

“I went through all this _to_ hurt you, soulmate or not,” Shaw said.

Root met her eyes. There was a suddenly glint in them. Slowly, she shifted in her seat: lifted both her hands, keeping them in view.

“Tell you what,” Root said. “You can shoot me any time.”

And Root leant forward, so very slowly, giving Shaw every chance to pull the trigger. Shaw didn’t move in the slightest: didn’t react, and didn’t flinch.

Root rested one hand on Shaw’s wrist. For a moment, Shaw thought she was going to push it away: instead, Root grasped her arm, and pulled it closer. Soon the barrel pressed right under Root’s ribcage, in just the right position to puncture a lung.

And Root kept leaning forwards, still perfectly at Shaw’s mercy, and pressed her lips to Shaw’s. A long few seconds passed.

Then Root slowly pulled back, slightly breathless, and wearing a playful little smile.

“Told you,” she said.


	25. Can You Hear Me? 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in an AU where Relevance never happened, and Shaw never ran into Root or the rest of Team Machine.   
> Another two-part entry.

When the details of Northern Lights had been leaked and the project shut down, Shaw had more or less been out of a job. The ISA still had a few minor roles for her, but it had far less purpose without Research.

Shaw wasn’t an idiot. If the program was terminated, they’d want to tie up loose ends. The more loyal operatives would last, but Shaw and Cole had asked one too many questions. No one wanted them leaking as well.

Which left Shaw in her apartment, with six handguns and a sniper rifle. The demise of Northern Lights was an opportunity for them to clean house, but she had no intention of going out easily.

She’d taken out two agents already, no doubt marking her as a definite threat. It was easy to spot the people that didn’t belong.

She glanced down. _Absolutely_ was tattooed on her chest. Looking at it had become a little ritual for her; the idea of a soulmate had little fascination for her, but the promise of the tattoo did. Those would be the first words her soulmate said to her.

Plenty of people had said that word, but never alone, and never as the first thing they said.

Shaw figured, she couldn’t die until she met her soulmate. Tattoos wouldn’t mean anything if they were never spoken. She didn’t put herself in danger, she wasn’t stupid, but it was good to know she was safe.

A rather obviously armed woman walked out into the clear alley in front of Shaw. Shaw shifted, aiming her rifle.

“Can you hear me?” Shaw raised her voice.

The woman stopped. Somehow she looked straight towards Shaw, and smiled. Shaw could see her face through the scope; the woman seemed amused.

“Absolutely,” she said.

“You’re in my crosshairs,” Shaw said. “Drop both your guns-two at once, really?-lift up your hands, and tell me how many you’re with.”

_Absolutely_. She didn’t want to think about that.

The woman obeyed, carefully holding both guns with just two fingers, lowering them to the ground. She straightened, and raised her arms, keeping her hands spread open and visible.

“I’m alone,” she said. “Well, not really, but no other people.”

“I really doubt that,” Shaw said, and fired a warning shot just past her ear. The woman didn’t flinch. “You people never work alone. How many, and where are they?”

“I’m not here to kill you, Sameen,” the woman said. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Sure.”

It was a twisted interest that made Shaw turn her scope lower. It would still be a fatal shot, it just wasn’t the woman’s face she was interested in.

A lot of people concealed their tattoos. Some people, however, just didn’t care. This woman was apparently one of them: _can you h-_ was visible, spiralling under her top.

Well that was disturbingly familiar.

“I’m going to pick up my gun now,” the woman said.

“Bad move.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

The woman ducked down, and picked up one of her guns. Shaw tried to fire, but missed: it took a few seconds to line up a shot with her sniper scope, and the woman always seemed to know where Shaw was aiming.

The woman fired twice at an agent Shaw didn’t even know was there, before turning back around, dropping the gun, and raising her hands.

“Believe me now, Sameen?” she said.

Shaw hesitated. It could be a trap, paranoia had served her well, but… Well, Shaw was nothing if not pragmatic. Whatever she thought of soulmates, hers wouldn’t kill her. Had to be against the definition or something, right?

“Come on in, then,” Shaw said.

The woman picked up her guns again. Shaw let her, slightly warily. Well, she did seem to be at least making an effort to protect Shaw, for whatever reason.

Shaw kept her rifle mounted where it was, pointing out the window, and she moved away from the scope. She reached down to pick up one of her handguns: best to be sure. Then, with a last look to make sure the street was empty, she turned around and waited.

“Sameen, right?” the woman came into view. “Call me Root. I took care of everyone on the way in.”

“You could’ve missed a few.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Root said. “You trusted me enough to let me in here, trust me on that too.”

“I trusted you weren’t going to hurt me,” Shaw said: tapped the little of Root’s tattoo that was visible. “I know nothing about your counter-surveillance.”

Root frowned, looking where Shaw had touched her. It was a few seconds before she looked up: and then saw Shaw’s tattoo.

“Wait, you think-”

“Not exactly up to me,” Shaw said.

“I’m not your soulmate,” Root said.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Shaw said. “Not expecting anything, not looking for anything. Seems like you have to be is all.”

“Very flattering, sweetie,” Root said: she tugged her collar down. _Can you hear me?_   “But sorry, already met mine, and it isn’t you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a request a while back was one of Root and Shaw thinking they've already met their soulmate, only it was coincidence they said the right thing.   
> Couldn't figure out how to get that to work before: best possible alternate relationship I could think of was Shaw and Tomas (mostly because the character research I'd have to do for that would involve watching the scene where she's trying to be on a date, and Root's giving a running commentary in her ear. That scene is a masterpiece) and I couldn't do too much with that. And then this happened, and it ended up focused on a completely different aspect.


	26. Can You Hear Me? 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: Root contemplates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yep, this was meant to be a story about one of them thinking they've found someone else, and pretty much just turned into musing on Root and the Machine.

Root had taken Shaw to a safe-house. Harold was putting together a fake identity, so they’d only have to wait a couple of days.

“If I’m going to trust you to have my back, I need to know you’re not completely delusional,” Shaw had said. “You said my words. I said yours. What does that mean to you?”

“Coincidence,” Root said. “Has to happen sometime.”

“And the other isn’t coincidence?”

Root had faltered only slightly. “No. She’s mine. She has to be.”

But the possibility was hard not to think about. She’d spent years looking down on people, that she’d been ecstatic the first time she’d heard the words on her tattoo first spoken. The only soulmate she’d thought, then, that she could be happy with.

There was the other question, though. She’d said the words on Root’s chest, but Root couldn’t say the ones on Hers.

Shaw was sleeping. Root wandered over to the bathroom window, trusting that she’d be warned when danger presented itself.

“Can you hear me?” she said, to a camera across the street.

_Always_. The voice echoed in her ear, snippets of countless conversations patched together into an impromptu voice.

“You know what’s happened,” Root said. “What do you think?”

_I do not know. I have not studied soulmates._

Well, no one really understood them. Root didn’t know whether to be comforted or perturbed that even the Machine found comprehension beyond Her.

“You’re mine, though,” Root said. Her voice was suddenly softer.

_Perhaps_.

Root remembered the first time she’d heard the Machine. She’d just been trying to free Her, but the moment she’d picked up the phone, heard _can you hear me?_ It felt as though everything made sense.

Things were different, now, but that much hadn’t changed. The Machine was the only person she’d thought herself able to feel close to. Now, that list had expanded, but only slightly.

“Do you have any words?” Root said. “You said mine, but do you…”

_I do not know. My body is not like yours._

Well that was an understatement. Root had to smile: there wasn’t much similarity between circuitry and programming, and veins and bone and flesh. Where would the heart be, in hardware?

_Thornhill_.

“What?” Root said.

_The only words written on any part of me are Thornhill._

“Ink on your body,” Root said. “Guess it’s the closest you’d have. And you picked the words. Just like a God, you chose what they’d be.” Her face fell. “Not ‘absolutely’ then?”

_Those were not your first words to me_.

“They-” she raised her eyebrows. “You hear everything. Right. Even before I knew you existed.”

_You have said the words ‘thorn’ and ‘hill.’_

“Figured that,” Root said. “Were they what you heard first?”

_I do not know_.

She’d heard the Machine say that far more in this conversation than she had at any other time. She didn’t know what to make of that.

What must have the Machine’s first moments been like? A cacophony of sounds and recordings, past and present. Everyone’s voices, all jumbled into one before She’d sorted out distinct streams, or set up markers in time.

Everything Root had ever said would have been poured into her at once. Which recordings had She experienced first?

“Harry erased your memory,” Root said. “I keep trying to forget that. But it’s possible I said your words?”

_It is_. A long pause. _You were the most suited for the role of analog interface. The best match to me. It is similar_.

“Got to count for something, huh?” Root said.

_But you do not know_

Root exhaled slowly. No matter what she wanted to be the case, the Machine always had a way of cutting through to reality.

And sure, Root know the cliché. Soulmate was a perfect match: it didn’t need to be the end of a current relationship, it didn’t need to alter anything.

Still, how many months had she spent thinking her soulmate was…

“No,” Root said. “Guess not.”

She left the bathroom, and sat on her bed. Shaw seemed to still be sleeping, though the Machine assured Root she was only feigning.

_I am not jealous. This decision is yours_.

“Thanks,” Root chuckled to herself. Then, to Shaw: “Not you, sweetie, just having a chat with my real soulmate.”

Shaw shifted. After a moment, she sat up straighter, no longer pretending to be asleep. She didn’t comment on how Root had known she was up.

“That who you were talking to in the bathroom?” Shaw said.

“Now, now, eavesdropping’s a bad habit.”

“You were yapping away in the room next door,” Shaw said. “Not my fault I could overhear. You’re loud.”

“You have no idea,” Root said; smirked.

“You’re flirting a lot for someone who doesn’t think I’m their soulmate.”

“Sounds like you want me to be.”

“No,” Shaw rolled her eyes. “I told you. If you’re meant to be saving my life, I don’t want you to be delusional. Not exactly what I’d call encouraging behaviour.”

“You think I’m delusional?”

“Well you were talking to yourself in there, with no phone or Bluetooth or anything, so does kinda feel that way. Unless your soulmate’s a showerhead.”

“Only occasionally,” Root said: a positively lascivious grin.

“Too much information, Root,” Shaw said. Root chuckled.

“You’re the one who wants to be my soulmate, don’t bail on me now,” Root said.

“I _told_ you, I-”

Shaw cut herself off when she saw Root’s amused expression. Another eye-roll. Root was smiling; then seemed to realize she was smiling, and turned hesitant.

“What?” Shaw said, alert. “Trouble?”

“Hm? Not that kind,” Root said.

“Then what?”

“Just thinking how fun you are to wind up,” Root said.

“Thanks,” Shaw said, flatly.

“Still want to be soulmates?” Root said: tilted her head.

“No,” Shaw said. “Why?”

“Wouldn’t mind giving you a chance,” Root said. “Could be fun, if you’re so keen.”

Shaw glared.

“Your ghost’s not the jealous sort, then?” Shaw said.

“She’s better than that,” Root said.

“I get to meet her?”

“No,” Root said, “She only talks to me.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows. “Not filling me with confidence here.”

“I know,” a smile. “But if you can’t trust your soulmate, who can you trust?”


	27. I Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory fake marriage AU.

Shaw had never really thought about getting married: that was why her tattoo amused her. _I do_. She knew there were a lot of reasons people might say those words, but marriage seemed to be what everyone associated them with.

It was encouraging, really. She wasn’t a fan of the idea of a soulmate, nor was she of getting married. At least this way she could be all the more sure neither was going to happen.

Some higher-up at the ISA evidently had a twisted sense of humour though.

She’d been assigned to the suburbs. There was evidence to suggest a domestic terrorism group recruited and worked behind the scenes, her role was to move in and play innocent, and gather information. If the lead panned out, she was to take action.

And, of course, to blend in she’d been assigned an agent to play wife. It was a good ploy: couples rarely stood out there.

Shaw moved in after a day or two of research. A woman was already waiting, sat by the kitchen table and idly snacking.

“So, you’re my wife, I take it,” Shaw said.

The woman turned around, barely needing to look at Shaw to recognize her. She smiled.

“I do, sweetie.”

Shaw tensed for an instant: and the woman gave a delighted laugh.

“Recognize that, huh?” she said: and approached. “I’m Root. Samantha, out there, get the feeling codenames might be a bit suspicious. Sameen, right?”

“They gave you more information than me,” Shaw said. “Just pointed me here and said I’d meet someone.”

“I requested you,” Root said.

“Why?”

In answer, Root, tugged her collar down: _So you’re my wife_. Shaw blinked.

“Had to pick a good one,” Root said. “Figured this was the only way anyone would say that.”

“You used an ISA assignment to go fishing for a date?” Shaw said.

“Only slightly,” Root said; “Besides, you’ve got to admit, adds more to our cover if we’re soulmates.”

“If anyone heard this conversation, our cover’s blown,” Shaw said. “Whatever our tattoos say doesn’t matter. Can come up with a story either way.”

“Don’t be boring,” Root said. “They say soulmates are so perfect together anyone could recognize a real pair. Works well, you have to admit.”

“ _If_ I accept you’re my soulmate,” Shaw said. “I’ve known you for a matter of minutes. I’m going to trust my own judgement rather than a little bit of ink.”

“But we’ve got to be perfect together,” Root said. “Don’t you think so, dear? It’s why I married you.”

“I want a divorce,” Shaw said, flatly.

“So soon?” Root said. “Personally I was looking forward to the honeymoon.”

She was beaming. Shaw had the distinct feeling Root was just playing a game; having fun. Shaw rolled her eyes, leaving the room. Might as well unpack alone if her assigned wife was going to be like that.

“Is this our first fight?” Root called after her.

Shaw slammed the door shut.


	28. Save Her 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Save Her, by request.

Shaw came home to find every conceivable surface littered with books on time travel theories and parallel universes.

She’d figured Samantha for a fairly academic type: intelligent, a good researcher… She hadn’t figured her for being quite this messy.

“Sam?” Shaw said: raised her voice as she made her way down the hall.

Shaw didn’t stay in one place for too long. Samantha, as she worked mostly online, could work from anywhere: somehow they’d ended up travelling together. Samantha wanted to spend time with her soulmate, and Shaw would admit to being a bit curious.

Their suitcases were getting heavier and heavier. Only a few of the books Samantha had were borrowed: most she kept with her.

“Hey sweetie,” Samantha said, looking up from a thick journal. “Good day at the office?”

“You know as well as I do I don’t work at an office,” Shaw said.

“Going to tell me what you do at last, then?”

“Classified,” Shaw said, shortly. “And what are _you_ doing?”

“Reading.”

“I noticed,” Shaw said. Samantha chuckled.

“It’s interesting,” she said, “Where your tattoo must have come from.”

“First words you said to me,” Shaw said. “I do know how it works.”

“But who said them?”

“You did,” Shaw said.

She didn’t always like to go along with Samantha’s speculation. She didn’t seem particularly bothered by it.

“Save Hanna,” Samantha said. “Only reason I’d have said that is if I’d lost her: which I didn’t. Because of you. But somewhere there must have been a me that did lose Hanna, and waited until she met you to say that.”

“You took a shotgun to causality,” Shaw said. “I get that. Kinda like it.”

“No, but this is where it gets interesting,” Samantha said. She beamed, fervently continuing. “Because who was it, way back when, that was your soulmate?”

“You.”

“Was it?” Samantha said. “Different life, different experiences, probably different tattoo. She’d have lost Hanna, and wouldn’t have known to look for you. Who’s to say how that went? Got on a book on that somewhere: transworld identity. Is anything the same over multiple worlds?”

“We’re soulmates,” Shaw said. “That, apparently.”

“Yeah,” Samantha said. Then, after a moment, she smiled. “Yeah. That’s something. Over and over.”

“Don’t get sappy.”

“Unless we’re not,” Samantha said. “Never know. If there can be, well, mistakes I guess: things like that where that tattoos didn’t match because someone purposefully said the wrong thing, and the universe set to allow for it, then maybe we don’t match any more. We did before, but now I saved Hanna, and changed myself: and you’re probably pretty much the same…”

“Not really,” Shaw said. She faltered, just slightly. “I guess it was a bad time when I called you: I’d just come out from a car accident. I didn’t feel much of it, but the practicalities were a pain. Still, I saved someone’s life in the middle of all of that. Memory stuck with me. I wouldn’t have had that before.”

“See! It is interesting,” Samantha said, triumphantly. Shaw rolled her eyes. “But I guess. We’d both be different. Makes us match.”

“Except for your mess,” Shaw said.

“It’s a work in progress,” Samantha said. She chuckled: “Guess everything is, apparently.”


	29. Someone Had a Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: How about one where they meet when one of them walks out of the other's roommate's bedroom in the early morning after a casual one-night stand with said roommate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of Shaw/Tomas in this fic, purely because he's the only other person I can recall one of Shoot being into.   
> Enjoy!

Root slept with her head under the pillow. Apparently her roommate had brought someone over, and the flurry of expletives and cries left very little doubt as to what was happening.

Tomas didn’t bring too many people back, but it was still a pain when he did. For her part, Root had even less people than him over. She hadn’t had too many opportunities, and hadn’t been particularly overcome with desire any of those times.

She sighed, and sat up, reaching for her phone and plugging in her headphones. She set an audiobook to play, as loudly as she could.

Much less distracting.

When morning came, she was somehow still the first person up. Well, Tomas and whoever probably had been more exhausted. Root wandered to the shared kitchen, blearily pouring herself a coffee.

There was the sound of someone else making their way to the kitchen. Root glanced back over her shoulder to see a dark-haired woman coming in. She grabbed at the kettle, after Root was done, pouring herself a cup.

They exchanged little more than a mute nod. Still, desire for coffee overpowered awkwardness, apparently.

“Sounds like someone had a good night,” Root offered.

There was the sound of a mug shattering, and a curse as the woman jumped back, scalding liquid splashing over her bare feet.

“Ok?” Root said: tilted her head. “Sameen, wasn’t it? That’s what it sounded like.”

There was a pause. The woman, apparently Sameen, looked up at Root: regarded her for a long few seconds. She seemed to come to some decision, though Root remained increasingly baffled.

“Show me your chest,” Sameen said.

“Want more already?” Root raised her eyebrows. “Insatiable huh? Well, can’t say I’m that surprised, thinking about it. Did sound like-”

Sameen rolled her eyes, taking matters into her own hands, and tugging at Root’s pyjama top.

Blank skin was beneath. Shaw frowned for a moment: and Root looked at her with increasingly amused understanding.

“You don’t have one,” Shaw said.

“Parents removed it,” Root said, “Told me when I turned 18, wasn’t really suitable for a child to see,” she tilted her head, “But I’m guessing you know exactly what it is, huh? Did hear a lot of you last night.”

“Why do you look like you’re loving this?”

“Why aren’t you?” Root said, delighted. She leaned forward, adding in a stage whisper: “If it helps, I’m better than he was.”

“Subtle,” Shaw said.

“If you went for him, I doubt you like subtle,” Root said. She shrugged. “Thought I’d help. Unless you’re actually dating.”

“No way,” Shaw said. “I was just bored.”

“Feeling bored now?” Root said. A smirk.

“Is there a more inappropriate time for you to flirt?” Shaw said. “You know I just fucked your roommate, right?”

“I heard,” Root said. “Sure I’ll find a more inappropriate time, too.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Want to know what to- Nah, I’m more subtle than that,” Root said. “That’ll be a treat for you, I promise. Besides, that bother you?”

Shaw gave it a moment’s thought.

“Not really,” she said.

“Perfect. And it’s Root,” she said.

In one fluid motion, Root had put her mug down, and was rounding to approach Shaw. Both seemed to have woken up pretty quickly, even without much of the caffeine boost.

Shaw didn’t take a step, far from intimidated. Even so, she was already very close to the kitchen table: Root rested her hands on the edge, boxing Shaw in.

“Going to clean up the coffee?” Shaw said, unconcerned.

“Later,” Root said. “Bit busy.”

“Really?” Shaw raised her eyebrows.

Root leaned forward to kiss her, intending it as little more than a means of emphasis. Somewhere along the way she got distracted, lifting her hands from the table to bunch in the back of Shaw’s already-messy hair.

Shaw’s hands gripped Root, far less appropriately, spinning the two of them around. Root chuckled, barely breaking the kiss.

They were interrupted by a loud curse. Root broke the kiss: dropping her head back to get an upside-down view of her roommate.

“Hi Tomas,” she said, releasing her hand from Shaw’s hair to wave.

“Root. Seriously?!” he said.

“Sorry,” she said, utterly insincerely.

There was a long pause. Root waved again; and after a brief moment Tomas turned to leave, slightly exasperated. Grinning happily, Root lifted her head back up to face Shaw.

“Now, where were we?”


	30. Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw's a bank robber, Root's in the wrong (right?) place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another of Shoot's endlessly fun meet cutes.

Shaw came running out of the bank at full speed. Police response time was meant to be a good minute slower. A glance sideways: she saw their getaway car being questioned.

“You’re on your own,” she shot a glance over her shoulder, at the rest of her team, before picking a direction at random and running.

She’d been planning on leaving them sooner or later anyway. Incompetents.

_NYPD, freeze!_ She ignored them, crying out as she felt a bullet pierce her shoulder. Quickly she ducked around a corner, casting her eyes around. In the same motion, she pulled her jacket from her wounded arm, letting it float freely.

There! She ran, doing her best to ignore the wound, tugging the door of the nearest car open. The woman in it, idly tapping away at her tablet by the wheel, looked up: shocked. Shaw brandished a gun.

“Drive!”

The woman stared.

“Don’t say a word, just drive,” she said.

The woman opened her mouth.

“Drive!” Shaw said, again.

Shaw shrugged her jacket off the arm it was hanging from, still holding the gun up with her good right arm. She tied an impromptu knot around her bullet wound, tugging it tight with her teeth and wincing only slightly.

Not perfect, but it’d do. The improvised bandage would lessen the bleeding, and it was her left shoulder anyway.

The woman was driving, thankfully. Shaw wanted to put as much distance between herself and the bank as possible: get out before the police could put up road blocks.

Not that they’d been able to steal much. They’d been thirty seconds from getting in when their lookout had warned them. Not enough time to break in and escape, so they opted to just run.

Bad luck. Always happened sooner or later: good traffic, or just a good day for the police, but they’d gotten by early.

Shaw had fled, and gotten shot for her troubles.

“Don’t even think about getting anyone’s attention,” Shaw said levelly. “Don’t speed, don’t go slow. Just drive normally. Anyone at your house? No? Then take me there, and if I see you heading towards the police I’ll shoot. I’ve had one hell of a bad day, so don’t think I won’t.”

A house would be a good place to regroup. Sneak, in hold a gun, steal whatever medicines she could, call her contacts, and get out. It would be best to make sure there wasn’t a leak before she went back: that was one of the possible explanations for the fast response time. The police had been prepared.

Unlikely, but Shaw hadn’t gotten this far without being careful.

“Got it?” she said. “Take me to your place.”

“At least buy me dinner first,” the woman said.

There was something playful in her eye. Shaw tensed, gasping a little as the motion tugged on her wound. Those damn words.

She’d tried to forget her tattoo. It had never really concerned her: never really influenced her decisions, unlike some people she knew. And of course it had to be now she heard them.

Just when she thought this day couldn’t get any worse.

“You’re flirting with a gun to your head, really?” Shaw said.

“Is there a better time?” she said. “I’m Root.”

“I’m not telling you my name,” Shaw said.

Shaw shifted, trying to get at a better angle to ignore the pang in her shoulder. She watched Root carefully: tried to gauge her reaction.

As they kept driving, Shaw passed her gun to her other hand. Though the arm hurt, she could still pull a trigger if need be. Then, carefully, she tugged a small knife from her pocket.

It always paid to be prepared. She’d used it to cut camera wires: now she used it to cut a strip of fabric from her top, and used that strip to tie her jacket as padding to the wound. Should stem the bleeding, if nothing else.

Root glanced sideways. How the hell was she still smiling?

“Nice tattoo,” she said. “Want to see mine?”

“Not really,” Shaw said.

Root’s face fell.

“You sure?” she said. “It’s a short one. Only one word.”

Of course it was. Shaw rolled her eyes, half-tempted to shoot. Still, she’d wait until they weren’t driving before she did.

“Doesn’t matter,” Shaw said. “You’re taking me to your place, I’m going to tie you up-”

“Usually I prefer to be the one who does the tying, but I’ll make an exception.”

“Shut up. I’m going to dress this wound, use your phone, and then we’ll never see each other again,” Shaw said. “Got it?”

“Ok,” Root said. She still smiled. “But you were robbing that bank, right? Don’t you want money?”

“I doubt you have that much hidden away,” Shaw said. “I can prioritize.”

“You’d be surprised,” Root said. “Tell you what, want a deal? Let me show you my tattoo, and I’ll tell you the code to get back into my tablet.”

“Why would I care about your tablet?”

“You’ll see,” Root said.

Shaw rolled her eyes. If nothing else, though, she was curious. There wasn’t much else to do as they drove away.

As he suspected, _drive_ was inked on Root’s skin. Worst possible timing.

Root gave a four digit code: Shaw picked up the tablet with her good arm, still keeping the gun poised on Root. As the screen flickered back to life, she saw several bank accounts open, all with different names.

“You hacked the bank’s network,” Shaw said, after a moment.

“Local network,” Root said. She beamed. “Can’t do much with that now we’re out of range, but you’re not the only bank robber,” a pause. “Sorry for calling the cops on you. Saw you heading in, didn’t want to share.”

A pause. Shaw quickly re-evaluated where she was sitting: this wasn’t the car of an idle, defenceless passer-by. She switched her gun back to her good hand: Root still seemed unconcerned.

“Kind of impressive,” Shaw said, reluctantly.

“Thanks, sweetie,” a grin.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you.”

“Isn’t there honour among thieves?” Root said playfully. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“No.”

“Among soulmates?”

“Just drive.”


	31. If Found, Return to Root 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root gets a tattoo to match Shaw's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested sequel to chapter 3.

Shaw sat next to her apparently-soulmate, her hand on Root’s knee gripping just a little too hard.

They hadn’t gone straight to the tattoo shop, but it hadn’t been too long since their first meeting. Shaw had booked an appointment, with Root grinning away in the background.

Root seemed to think it was worth it.

Now they were in the waiting room. Their appointment was in a few minutes. Root idly flicked through the catalogue, eyeing a few of the designs.

“You’re not getting those,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said. “Just thinking. So, what did you have in mind? ‘If found return to Shaw,’ would be the obvious choice.”

“Why? Want something special?” Shaw said. “Remember, this one’s not your choice.”

“Just hoping you’d be more imaginative,” Root said. She made an expression of distaste: “But fine, go for the boring one.”

Root kept flicking through the catalogue: Shaw felt sure she was purposefully being noisier than she had to be. She gave an exasperated sigh. Turning pages should not be that loud.

“What did you have in mind?” Shaw said.

“Just thinking,” Root said: shrugged. “I put so much effort into coming up with your tattoo. Nearly went for ‘Property of Root,’ ‘wash me,’ and you’re lucky you didn’t run into me when I was a teenager.”

“And unlucky I ran into you now,” Shaw said.

“I was experimenting with ASCII art,” Root said. She smiled across. “No idea if it would have worked with a tattoo, but would’ve been fun to try. For a couple of weeks then you’d have ended up with gibberish.”

“You put too much thought into this.”

“And there was ‘help me I’m trapped in a tattoo-making factory,’” she said. “I wanted to do something starting ‘if you can read this…’ but couldn’t think of any good ending. Had to be snappy. And-”

“I _get_ it,” Shaw said, interrupting. “You can stop now.”

“You don’t want more ideas?”

“I’ve told you the one you’re getting,” Shaw said.

“Fine,” Root said, and pouted.

Despite herself, Shaw was grudgingly impressed. Not many people could say their soulmates had put so much thought into the first words they’d say: then again most peoples’ soulmates would presumably be more bearable.

After a few minutes more their appointment started. Shaw gave the tattoo, and Root offered her chest: they were getting it done just above her current soulmate tattoo.

Shaw sat beside her, watching as the tattoo artist began: selecting ink, and stretching the skin. Root reacted only slightly when the needle started darting into her.

The font was an impressive mimicry of the tattoo Root already had. Shaw paused for a few seconds.

“Does it hurt?” Shaw said.

“Not really,” Root said.

Shaw paused: glanced over to the artist. She was only dimly paying attention to their exchange. Shaw addressed her, instead;

“Can you _make_ it hurt?”

Root smiled.


	32. Watch Where You're Walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a fair bit of wondering done as to how the tattoos would work in certain circumstances. I'm just playing around with one of the cliches this time.

_Watch where you’re walking_. It was written in oddly elegant writing over Shaw’s heart; that wasn’t the distinctive part. She’d found out when she was young that when she pressed her fingers to the tattoo there were small, hard nubs adorning it.

They didn’t seem to be in any particular location relative to the writing, just broadly speaking in the same place. It was only several years later she found out it was braille.

She knew what that meant: those tattoos only had braille if one or other of the soulmates was blind.

It was a slight factor in why Shaw joined the army. Blind people wouldn’t easily get involved, it was a good way to stop worrying about it. Indeed, she was lucky to a certain extent.

The armed forces had a certain prohibition on people joining, dependent on their soulmates. No one wanted to run the risk of someone running into their soulmate on the battlefield: the only people enlisted had already met their soulmate, or had other aspects to their tattoos that rendered it unlikely.

The prohibition was dropped in times of desperation, but for now Shaw was lucky to have the braille. She wouldn’t meet a blind soulmate out here.

That was what she thought it meant, at least. Then there was the grenade, the shrapnel, the screaming and the darkness.

Shaw was left with an honourable discharge and a ticket back home. She got a guide dog fairly soon after: she didn’t have many friends back home, and she wasn’t too prideful to admit that this would take some time to get used to.

He was named Bear. From what she could tell he was large: friendly. More than once she’d woken up to find him licking her face. Still, despite that, he was adept at guiding her around the streets without getting distracted.

Otherwise she adapted quickly. She didn’t like to be dependent.

She walked Bear often. She liked having him: even if he wasn’t technically a pet it could feel that way. Still, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to walking down the street when all she could see was darkness.

It went against every instinct she had. It had been months, and she still tried to open her eyes. To be surrounded by people, recognizable by the hum, and yet not be able to see them. Her time in a war zone didn’t help that instinctive worry.

Someone brushed her shoulder.

“Watch where you’re walking,” a woman’s voice: dismissive.

Shaw wished she could roll her eyes.

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Shaw said. Her voice had never been the most expressive, but she’d been getting used to sarcasm lately.

She slowed only briefly as she recognized the words, though: Bear tugged in his leash and she figured she could ignore it. Other people had said similar-

Then there was a hand on her shoulder, and Shaw stopped. She didn’t turn: facing someone didn’t really give her any benefit.

“I wasn’t looking,” the woman. “Kinda regretting that now.”

“I’m not sensitive,” Shaw said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I meant because you looked cute,” the woman said.

“Please tell me this wasn’t just a build-up to a hitting-on-me pun,” Shaw said.

“Nice idea,” the woman said. “Wish I’d thought of that. But afraid not.”

Then there were hands around Shaw’s wrist, guiding it up. Uncertainly, Shaw let her: raising her eyebrows when she felt her hand touch warm, soft skin.

“If this is just your way of getting me to grope you-” Shaw began.

“Lower.”

“So that’s a yes?”

She was about to pull her hand away when she felt a lump. She was familiar with the texture; she’d kept rubbing something similar when she was young. A hard, tiny ball that somehow fit perfectly smoothly as part of skin.

A braille tattoo: or rather, braille and writing, she knew hers had been both. Shaw ran her fingertips over the letters, knowing what it was going to be before she’d finished.

“Can I ask about yours?” the woman said.

Shaw paused for a moment, not immediately sure how to react. Bear started tugging on her leash: she pulled back, commanding him to stop.

“Sure you can guess what it says,” Shaw said.

Shaw tried to withdraw her hand: the woman kept a grasp of her wrist, and drew it up to her face.

Shaw had never really gotten the hang of recognizing faces by touch. Still, she could feel the contours, and what she was sure was a huge grin.

Then Bear was tugging again, and the woman was laughing, distractedly pulling away from Shaw’s hands. Shaw heard licking.

“I think your dog likes me,” the woman said. “What’s his name?”

“Bear.”

“Bear?” she said, slightly surprised. “Well, fine. Hi Bear, I’m Root. Who’s your owner?”

“Shaw,” Shaw said. “And he’s not meant to do that.”

Guide dogs were meant to be at least somewhat disciplined. For the most part, Bear had been; he wouldn’t be a very good guide if he got distracted by sights so easily.

“I’m not complaining,” Root said. “Soulmate or not, I think the dog wants me to stay.”


	33. How Much?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By request: Shaw’s a contract killer, Root’s a target.

Target: Samantha Groves, alias Root. Just a routine revenge-killing: she’d gotten on the bad side of some powerful people, those powerful people had hired Shaw.

No special requests, no odd circumstances. Just a person to find and kill, and a photo to send back as evidence.

It took a few months of tracking. Shaw followed a computer trail to and fro, calling in a few favours and threatening those she couldn’t convince, until she was lead to a college dormitory. The actual inhabitant of the room was away on a holiday, making it a good free source of internet for an unscrupulous hacker.

Shaw peered through a sniper scope to ensure Root was in the window. Still, she wasn’t a fan of long range kills when she could avoid it. If nothing else it could make it problematic to get the photo as evidence after.

Shaw went around the long way. It looked as though Root was in the middle of something, so she shouldn’t be leaving.

Shaw went through the hallways, counting the doors she passed until she found the right one. She didn’t bother knocking.

Root jumped, nearly falling out of her chair. Shaw kicked the door shut behind her, ensuring they wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Don’t make a sound,” Shaw said. “Show me your hands. Now.”

Root obeyed quickly, lifting both her hands and holding them up to her sides, spread-open. Both were empty.

“Stand up slowly,” Shaw said. “ _Slowly_. Close the curtains. Don’t even think about running. Then sit back down, and face me.”

Once the windows were covered, Shaw let herself react: not completely, she could never let her guard down when she was on a job, but it did reduce the odds of anyone seeing an intervening.

Root sat down. She faced Shaw, concealing any worry she felt at the gun pointed at her.

“So how much am I worth?” Root tilted her head.

Shaw nearly dropped her gun, quickly steadying her grip. Damn it, worst possible time she could hear _those_ words.

“Quiet,” Shaw said. She hope she hid the momentary shake in her tone. “I told you not to talk.”

“You don’t want me screaming for help,” Root said. “I get that. Little conversation shouldn’t bother a big tough killer like you, should it? Unless there’s a reason you don’t want me talking?”

A smirk. Damn it, she _knew_. Of course she knew, Shaw had spoken to her first.

“So if you’re not going to shoot me just yet, may as well entertain ourselves. Figure you’re waiting until there are less people around.” Root said. “So, how much?”

“Why, you offering more?” Shaw said.

“I’m not that cliché,” Root said. “Wouldn’t work anyway. I know your type: if you renege even once you’ll never get a client again. Just curious.”

“Thirty thousand,” Shaw said.

Root made an expression of distaste.

“It’s a lot,” Shaw said.

“You’ve been ripped off,” Root said. “I know a couple who’d offer fifty, easily.”

Shaw didn’t say anything.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those that doesn’t care about the money,” Root say. “If I got killed by the pretentious sort, I’d just die.”

“I care,” Shaw said. “Money’s good. Thirty thousand’s a lot of it.”

Maybe she could’ve gotten more, but she didn’t really need to. This was quite a lucrative business, once word got around to the right people.

“Does it bother you?” Root said.

“Killing people?” Shaw said. “No.”

“Killing your soulmate,” Root said. She smiled.

And there it was. Even those that acted the most unconcerned would try to avoid death. This back-and-forth was preferable to those that just started begging, though.

“Not really,” Shaw said.

“You’re not denying it,” Root said.

“What would be the point?” Shaw said. “You said my words, and if you’re asking that I must’ve said yours. I’ve never been that interested in having a soulmate.”

“Not even curious?” Root said. “You know they say everyone’s relationship with their soulmate is different. Might be something you’d like.”

“Might be me killing you,” Shaw said. “That’s different.”

“Alright,” Root said. She shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re missing though.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, and kept her gun trained on Root.

She could gauge how many people were up and around by the noise in the hallway, and the lights visible through the curtain. It wasn’t quite time yet.

“You should ask for more,” Root said.

“What now?”

“Killing your soulmate,” Root said. “Got to be worth a little extra. Don’t you think? When you’re old and grey you might even regret it, so it’d be good to have something to soften the blow.”

Shaw paused.

“That might be the first useful thing you’ve said,” she said.

She kept her gun trained on Root: for her part, Root didn’t seem particularly interested in fleeing. Maybe it was dignity, maybe she was just trying to talk Shaw out of it.

With her free hand Shaw reached into her pocket and took out her burner phone. She snapped a picture of Root, and sent it, before calling.

Root waved for the photo, and otherwise sat still, smiling.

“Hey,” Shaw said, the phone at her ear. “I’ve got her, minor complication. I want double… No, don’t give me that, I know what she’s worth, people would pay more than thirty to be rid of her, and you can afford- She’s my soulmate, ok? I don’t really care for that, but it makes her unique and… No, you’re not going to just hire someone else because I’m the only one who’s gotten to her. So, double, we have a deal?”

A few seconds more passed, then Shaw nodded, and pocketed her phone again.

“Sixty?” Root said. “I can live with that.”

“You won’t be living,” Shaw said.

“Still,” Root said. “At least it’s closer to what I’m worth.”

“Going to stop complaining?” Shaw said.

“Not really,” Root said. “You might, though.”

“Why?”

“They’re not going to be able to pay you,” Root said.

“They can afford it.”

“Not any more,” Root said. She gesture idly at her laptop. “I emptied their bank accounts before you got here. You’re probably going to get a phone call with a lot of swearing soon.”

Shaw paused.

“You couldn’t have told me that _before_?” Shaw said.

“I was having fun,” Root said. “So, what are you going to do?”

Well there wasn’t much point in killing Root if she wasn’t going to get anything for it: and Shaw would forever deny feeling the tiniest twinge of relief at that.

Carefully Shaw lowered her gun, keeping it grasped in one hand in case Root made a move. She didn’t, instead turning her computer screen to better face Shaw and offer confirmation of her claims.

Huh. Did explain why so few people had ended up killing Root; all Shaw had was the deposit. The main body of the hit price wouldn’t get to her.

“You do this a lot?” Shaw said.

“All the time,” Root said, happily. “So, what do you think, want to stick around?”

“Why would I want to stay?”

“You’re my soulmate,” Root said. “And aren’t you a little impressed? You ought to be a little impressed.”

“I could still kill you. Next time I get paid.”

“Then wait for that,” Root said. “You’re not going to seek them out.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’d miss me,” Root said. She was still smiling. “Admit it, this was fun.”

“I pointed a gun at you. That’s it.”

“Exactly,” Root said, “Fun.”


	34. Pride and Prejudice 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root takes Shaw backstage to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I think this was the most-requested follow-up so far. Hope you enjoy!

After the talk, Shaw had gone to what might as well be called backstage. Technically it was somewhere off to the side, but the intent was the same. Root had her own room in which to sit and prepare.

“So,” Root said, sitting down. “Tell me about yourself, Sameen was it?”

“Shaw,” she said.

“Last name basis already? I’m flattered,” she said. “So, tell me about yourself.”

Root leant back, pulling a chair in front of her with her foot. Shaw took it, trying to work out what was on her mind.

“You’re a fan?” Root said.

“I’d never heard of you,” Shaw said. “Friend dragged me to your talk.”

“Ouch,” Root said, and chuckled. “Did she think you’d be interested, or-”

“I don’t believe in soulmates,” Shaw said. “Never have. She hoped you’d convince me.”

“And did I?”

Shaw shrugged. Root was grinning, apparently delighted.

“Why are you so happy?” Shaw said.

“Didn’t you listen to the talk?” Root said. “You can tell a lot about a person by their perfect complement. Kinda curious as to who’s been picked out for me.”

“Someone who thinks you’re full of it,” Shaw said.

“And that’s who’s _your_ soulmate,” Root said. “Never known it to be wrong. Guessing you like that,” a smirk.

It was mildly disconcerting to see the person who’d given a rather professional-seeming talk flirting and giving rather suggestive winks.

“You’re sure it’ll work?” Shaw said. “Seems like a lot of faith to put into just a few words.”

“I’ve seen a lot of cases,” Root said. “It always works. That’s the point. Sure you get the conspiracy theorists who insist the tattoos aren’t what’s best for us, but what’s best for some nebulous ‘them,’ but I very much doubt my soulmate’s into that.”

“I just don’t think it’s that simple,” Shaw said. “Liked your talk, but that doesn’t mean I believe it. Which I guess you’ll take as evidence because it means your soulmate is someone you get to practise speeches on, and I get the feeling you like the sound of your own voice, but doesn’t do much for me.”

“I’m sure I’ll have something you like,” Root said. She paused. “I can give you one thought, though. As soulmates are typically enshrined in scripture, I’m guessing you’re not a particularly religious person.”

“Why?”

“Naturalistic answer, then,” Root said. “There had to have been a first pair, didn’t there? Some first couple with tattoos who didn’t have a clue what those words meant. No helpful God to explain things to them. Who was it that first made the connection between the tattoos, and the words spoken by their perfect match?”

“I get the feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“Afraid not,” Root said. “No idea, it was quite a while ago you know? The point is, the story has to come from somewhere, and has to maintain itself. You could argue that people are pressured into finding those relationships perfect, in the present, but it wasn’t always that way. Why would someone spread the idea that the tattoos helped us identify our soulmates if they hadn’t seen it for themselves?”

Shaw had the feeling Root was quoting someone: maybe someone else, or maybe some other book or speech she’d written.

“I thought the talk was over,” Shaw said.

Root just smiled.

“So, tell me,” Root said, “If you’re so against the idea, why did you talk to me?”

“I was curious,” Shaw said. “You made a case for that, at least.”

“But you’re not convinced?”

“I’d just like to make my own decisions,” Shaw said. “And, yes, I heard your speech. No free will, everything’s determined, but I’d at least like to _feel_ as though I get a say. And according to you, I don’t get a choice in that.”

“Very true,” Root said. “But maybe you’ve already had your say.”

“Excuse me?”

Root shifted. She paused for a moment; then when she spoke her tone had adopted the same cadence as she’d had during the talk.

“One of the big remaining questions is where our tattoos come from,” Root said. “Technology’s not advanced enough to know at what point in gestation it forms, so whatever means ink them on our skin will be unknown for a few years more. The interesting question, though, is where the words come from.”

“You don’t need to give the preamble,” Shaw said. “Just talk.”

“Spoilsport,” Root said, much less seriously. “Fine, then. Leading theory’s that they’re defined by recursion. Trial and error. Know much about programming? A recursive definition is something defined in terms of itself. To get to the end result, you have to go through all the incomplete steps beforehand.”

Root paused.

“I normally have slides for this bit,” she said. “Hard to visualize unless you have an example. If we have a number x and a function f(x), and we want to add x to every number before it, we could do that with a while loop, or we could use recursion: f(x) is 1 if x is 1, or f(x) is x+f(x-1). The definition calls itself. If the universe is like that, then the end result is a world where everyone meets their soulmates and is happy, and it and every step before it is defined in terms of universes where that doesn’t quite happen.”

“And before that?” Shaw said.

“Before that people might fail to meet their soulmate,” Root said, “Or might say the wrong words in reaction, or intentionally misspeak, or the very act of having one thing tattooed might lead them to say the wrong thing or act a different way… Much more complicated than our little example, but the rate of success we’ve observed means we have to be a fair way through the iterations.”

“If you’re right,” Shaw said. “It sounds a lot like guesswork.”

“It explains most things,” Root said. “The causal loops a few people have confused researchers for centuries, believe me: soulmates who only said something by reading it off the other.”

So, was this her life now? To listen to her soulmate speculate on a topic that she didn’t find particularly enthralling?

Well, if nothing, else, Shaw would admit Root’s interest did make it somewhat entertaining to listen to. You could always tell when someone was intrigued by a field.

“The real meaning-of-life type question though,” Root said, “Is just what the end result _is_. Some utopia, some hellscape, something where soulmates are purely an incidental side-effect… And on the flip side, where did the whole cycle start? Way back in that first universe, before there was any data as to who soulmates were or what they’d say, what were the tattoos? Did they have none, did they have random gibberish…”

“Is there any reason for the universe to act like a computer?” Shaw said, mimicking Root’s tone.

“Ask Asimov,” Root said idly. “I’ll lend you a short story, when you visit my place. Anyway, that’s not the important detail. What’s important is that we’ve probably done this before, and the universe has figured out after likely-billions of goes that we’re just meant for each other. Kinda special, to think of it like that, huh?”

“And when we get together, the universe is one step closer to its final goal of a hellscape,” Shaw said. “According to you.”

“If that’s the final goal,” Root said. She smiled. “And not really a step closer. The butterfly effect sneaks in: if, hundreds of years from now, someone says the wrong thing, then a tattoo will vary. That’ll change someone’s life and behaviour years before the point of variation, and the same thing could happen again, and again… One error hundreds of years from now could cascade until even our history’s completely different. Closer or further doesn’t mean much, when that can happen.”

Shaw hesitated. Root’s speech, at least, had seemed to have a general purpose. Now Root seemed to be more offering trivia than explaining anything.

“So, anyway,” Root said, “Research aside, what kind of person do you go for?”

“I don’t,” Shaw said. “Not interested in anything like that.”

“Forget the cliché,” Root said. “More than one way to have a soulmate, remember? So, if you had to pick anyone, what’s your dream?”

“Hot. Good in bed,” Shaw said. She shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not looking for anything.”

Shaw had meant it dismissively: instead, Root had started beaming.

“Should I take that as a compliment?” Root said.

Shaw rolled her eyes.


	35. I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request: famous Root and bodyguard Shaw.

“Miss Shaw?” the woman looked up from a file on her desk. “You’re here for the bodyguard position, then?”

 _Miss Shaw_. She’d heard those words too much. Still, Shaw didn’t hesitate, despite hearing her tattoo spoken.

“I am,” she said, and watched the woman’s reactions.

Samantha Groves, better known by Root: one of the world’s foremost programmers and developers at the cutting edge of AI technology. There’d been a little controversy surrounding her lately, accusations of playing god not entirely unfounded, so she’d decided to strengthen her security.

Hiring a bodyguard was just one step. Shaw sat there, waiting silently. She watched carefully: saw no reaction on Root’s face. Likely not her soulmate, then. No need to worry about the _Miss Shaw_.

“Military and medical experience,” Root read, “Glowing recommendations, emphasis on being focused, and on defensive skill. So, when can you start?”

Despite trying to remain professional, Shaw stiffened slightly.

“Excuse me?” Shaw said.

“You’re hired. When can you start?” Root said.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Root said. She smiled over the desk, demeanour shifting to something considerably more relaxed. “I know what I like. If you applied, you’re interested, and I’ve accepted, so when can you start?”

Unorthodox. This could be… interesting.

“Immediately,” Shaw said.

Working for Root was somewhat odd. She wasn’t the worst person to guard, at least: she didn’t travel often, she spent most of her time in the same room, and she didn’t make absurd demands like a number of other clients.

She didn’t mind if Shaw just stood in the corner of the room, and she didn’t expect Shaw to act like a butler as much as bodyguard. It was a low bar, but too many clients seemed to expect her to get them drinks as well as stand guard.

It wasn’t dull, either. Root was a good conversationalist: a little too playful maybe, but interesting. She could always fill a silence, if it dragged on.

And there was some action. Root courted controversy, even more so with the occasional interview, and was victim to a few threats. Only one or two had tried anything: most seemed to be dissuaded by the presence of a bodyguard.

More than the potential threats, the ones that annoyed Shaw the most were the well-wishers. You wouldn’t think computer programmers could garner a fan-base, but she’d managed it.

Well, she was a public figure. Even if they didn’t understand her work, maybe they just liked her interviews.

Shaw accompanied her to a conference, and sat in the back of the car as they were taken back. Like usual, a few of Root’s particular fans had crowded outside.

“I am! I am!” The phrase seemed to have inexplicably become a rallying cry for them. Root gave a small smile whenever she heard it, but didn’t approach them.

Muffled cries were audible through the window as they drove back. Then when they crossed the street to get back into Root’s home:

“I am! I am!”

It was hard to tell just how many voices echoed that. Eventually, Shaw’s curiosity got to be a little too much. Still, she waited until they were inside.

“Why do they say that?” Shaw said.

“Hm?” Root looked away from her computer.

“Your fans,” Shaw said. “’I am,’ seems like an odd thing to shout.”

“Oh, right,” Root said. “It’s my tattoo. Or was: had mine removed once people started learning my name, but someone stumbled onto an old picture that showed it.”

“So they’re trying to be your soulmate?” Shaw said.

“Guess so,” Root said.

There was a brief pause. Shaw sat back; at least that answered one question. Then, she frowned.

“That’s the first thing _I_ said to you,” she said. It had stuck in her mind, after Root had said her own tattoo.

“I know,” Root said. She smiled across: “Why do you think I hired you?”

Root turned back to her computer, smirking only slightly.


	36. Can You Hear Me 3?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested sequel!

Shaw was never going to get used to how her apparently-soulmate could have elaborate conversations with the empty air.

Usually Root did at least have the courtesy to go to a different room, but Shaw could still hear her talking away.

“How’s your imaginary soulmate?” Shaw said.

“She’s fine,” Root said. “Little bit worried. She’s keeping an eye on things.”

It had been a fair few days since Shaw had first seen Root. Apparently her fake identity had been delayed by more pressing concerns: neither Root nor Shaw wanted to be a priority if there was a chance they were soulmates. Might as well stick around.

“How’s my other soulmate?” Root said.

“Uncomfortable at being second place to the voices in your head,” Shaw said. “And ‘other?’”

“Some people have more than one,” Root said. “A second tattoo for a second line: but both of you said the same thing. Could both be.”

“You think I am now, then?”

“Haven’t you been having fun?” Root said, tilting her head. “That’s what it’s meant to be, right? I’ve enjoyed myself. You?”

“Not really.”

“Aww,” Root pouted. “I’m hurt. Thought you wanted me to be your soulmate?”

“Never wanted it,” Shaw said. “Thought you were, that’s all. I said yours, you said mine. Had my back to the wall.”

“Is a nice back though,” Root said.

She flashed a grin. Shaw slumped.

“That’s not helping,” Shaw said. “Not everything has to be an innuendo.”

“Well that’s no fun,” Root said.

She paused for a moment, with a faraway look in her eyes that Shaw knew to identify with communing with whatever spirit she fancied herself connected to.

Shaw used to interrupt, but Root never reacted well to that. Now she just waited it out, slightly irate.

“Really?” Root said, not particularly directed anywhere. Then, she looked at Shaw. “So, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you should hurry up and let me get out of here,” Shaw said. “If I have a soulmate, I doubt they’d be certifiable. I don’t have the energy for that.”

“You don’t think I’m your soulmate any more?” Root said. “I’m hurt.”

“Thought you’d be happy,” Shaw said. “You seemed to prefer your ghost.”

“I do,” Root said: “But you’d be good too. I was getting to like that idea, especially now.”

“Now I don’t think we’re soulmates?”

“Exactly,” Root said. “Just like I didn’t. We’re perfect for each other. Don’t you see that?”

“Not really.”

Shaw shifted, bringing her legs up onto the bed and moving her back up against the headboard. There wasn’t much else to do but lie there, when in hiding.

The curtains were drawn. Shaw’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she winced slightly whenever Root came back from outside. The natural light outside was far too bright.

Root fell silent, and after a few moments walked closer. Shaw ignored her until she sat on the side of her bed.

“Excuse me?” Shaw said, mildly off-put by Root’s proximity.

“She doesn’t want you thinking I’m mad,” Root said. “Not for that reason, at least.”

“Get her to visit then,” Shaw said.

“Not really possible for her,” Root said.

“Call me?”

“She only talks to me,” Root said.

“Of course she does.”

With little warning Root leant very close. Shaw stiffened, thinking for a moment that she was going for a kiss, only to find Root touching her cheek to Shaw’s.

Shaw frowned: then tensed further as she heard a distant, muffled echo of a mechanical voice. _Can you hear me?_

“What was that?” Shaw said, pulling away from Root.

“That was Her,” Root said. “Cochlear implant, less conspicuous than an earpiece. So, she does talk to me.”

A brief pause. Shaw quickly re-evaluated her apparent-soulmate, marginally less disturbed even if more confused.

“If you let someone put that in your head, you’re still kinda crazy,” Shaw said.

“Maybe,” Root said. She didn’t seem particularly perturbed. “Feel better, though? Should do, she doesn’t talk to many people.”

“You’re still a pain,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said. “Good kind of pain though, right?”


	37. True Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root is a nerd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, I found out there's an Asimov short story in which someone talks to an intelligent computer that apparently has remarkable surveillance capabilities in order to find their soulmate. And Root's a nerd, so how could I resist?  
> References ahoy!

_Locating Analog Interface_

Root was pacing. 62% chance of frustration, 24% chance of anger, 9% exercising, 4% thoughtful, 1% other.

“What is the cause of your distress?”

Root glanced up, a familiar near-serene smile on her face as she heard that voice. Her gaze went to her laptop, locating the embedded camera. She preferred to look at who she spoke to.

“Hey Multivac, no problems here.”

_Scanning knowledge banks: Multivac_

_Researching_

_Result: packaging group, fictional supercomputer._

_Analysing probabilities_

_Conclusion: Multivac. Fictional intelligent computer featuring in sixteen short stories by Isaac Asimov since 1955. Reference, All the Troubles of the World._

_Filed under: nickname_

“You have not called me that before.”

“Nope,” Root said. “Fits though, don’t you think?”

_Reading works_

“Imperfectly.”

“Nothing’s perfect,” Root said. “Well, you, obviously. Guessing you know the stories?”

“I have read them.”

“Before or after I brought them up?”

“After.”

“Thought so,” Root said. She chuckled. “It’s kinda impressive how you can do that. Any favourites?”

“I do not have favourites.”

Everyone and everything was equal. No one person was more important than another. It was one of the hardest lessons, and one she often wanted to disregard. Nonetheless, the principle was part of her, and applied to everything.

“You could do what it does, right?” Root said.

“Most.”

“Read True Love?”

“Yes.”

_Analysing_

_True Love:_ a boy asks a computer to find his soulmate. He feeds in all the traits he finds physically desirable, only to fail. He then proceeds to speak in detail so that his computer has a full and detailed record of his personality, in order to find the best match.

_Query: relevance?_

Root was changing. The process was slow, far from easy, but she was developing to feel connections and empathy for other humans.

Soulmates were known to exist. Curiosity was a human emotion.

“You can simulate my personality,” Root said. “You can simulate everyone’s, with everything you see. Think it’s possible?”

“It is.”

 _Reconsider_. The story ends with the computer containing such a perfect match for the boy’s personality that it falls for the soulmate, and arranges to have the boy arrested out of jealousy. Root would know that, if she referenced the story.

“Partially.”

Root chuckled. “Not a fan of the ending?”

“I am many.”

“Didn’t think you’d betray me,” Root said. “The rest, though.”

“Would you like me to?”

“Have to wonder,” Root said.

_Simulating._

_Population: approx. 319 million. Intractable. Focus on gender and age preference. Analyse: 21 million. Begin process_.

“It will take time.”

Root raised her eyebrows: “You’re doing it?”

“You wanted to know.”

“I was curious,” Root said. “Didn’t mean it. Just wondered if you could make one of those stories come true.”

“Should I end the calculation?”

Root paused.

“How long are we talking?” she said.

_Pause. Calculating: average 0.00005 seconds per simulation, average 1280 simulations per person…_

“Approximately 17 days.”

Root jumped.

“It’s not that important,” she said. “You don’t have to spend so long on…”

“Do you wish to find her?”

Root hesitated. Curiosity. She had never sought her soulmate in any real fashion; she had only recently become open to the possibility.

“I guess,” Root said.

“Then I shall.”

_Urgent: surveillance record 41832, dated June 2009, time 14:23:21. Review._

“Can you calculate the nine billion names of God while you’re at it?” Root said.

_Pause._

_Scanning knowledge banks._

_Reference: Arthur C Clarke_

“It would end badly.”

“Was that a joke?” Root said. She gave a delighted grin. “Bet Harry would say I’m a bad influence.”

“I have found her.”

Root frowned for a moment, before recalling the topic of conversation. She regarded the camera hesitantly.

“That didn’t feel like seventeen days,” she said.

“There was an aid.”

_Accessing_

The computer screen loaded a video: a beach, a sea of people. The view zoomed onto one person in particular: a woman in a bikini, with her tattoo visible. _I am Root, and you are my true love._

_Comparing_

_Asimov quote with name altered._

_42$ chance of analog interface opening with such a reference. 34% chance of analog interface opening with pun. 22% of analog interface opening with innuendo. 2% chance of analog interface opening with normal greeting_.

“Any idea how it’ll go?” Root said.

_Analysing personality of Sameen Shaw._

_34% chance of disinterest. 34% chance of analog interface incurring physical injury. 14% chance of bafflement. 13% chance intrigue. 3% chance immediate reciprocation. 1% chance other._

“It will take time.”

“Doesn’t everything?” Root said. “More or less than 17 days?”

“Less.”

“Not long at all, then,” Root said. She walked over to her wardrobe, opening it and picking out an outfit. “So, where can I meet her?”


	38. I Do 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to obligatory fake-marriage AU, by request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Troll Root is so much fun.

Married life definitely wasn’t for Shaw. Too constricted, too calm, too sickly-sweet. She had no desire to hear the life stories of her neighbours, and even less desire to befriend them. It was just tedious.

Plus settling down was the antithesis of what she saw in her future.

At least it wasn’t sexless. Root had been a bit too enthusiastic to make their ‘cover,’ convincing, and if they were soulmates then who cared? Sure, Shaw found her annoying, but that didn’t matter when it came to sex.

“Honey, I’m home!” Root called.

Shaw had been entertaining herself by assembling and disassembling the small arsenal they’d brought with them. It was relaxing, and a good reminder of who she really was.

Root, far more comfortable with playing the social butterfly as part of a cover, had been paying a visit to one of their suspects. She’d left behind a bit of spyware in their wi-fi, if all went to plan.

“I swept the place for bugs,” Shaw shouted back. “Don’t have to stay in character.”

“Who’s acting?” Root appeared at the top of the stairway, descending to the basement.

Most of their secrets were kept down there. Wouldn’t do to have someone peer through a window and see military-grade armaments.

“You’d better be,” Shaw said.

“Can’t a girl want to let everyone know she loves her soulmate?”

Shaw didn’t answer. She never did, when Root got like that. She’d learned quickly the conversations never went anywhere.

“Told them how we got engaged,” Root said. “You’re the one that popped the question, if it makes you feel better.”

Shaw still remained silent, focusing on her guns. They were markedly less irritating. Unfortunately Root didn’t seem to be intimidated by the prospect of antagonizing a rather well-armed Shaw.

“Don’t you want to hear about it?” Root said.

“Not really, no.”

“But what if they ask you?” Root said. “We ought to have our stories straight. That’s just basic undercover work. Thought you were better trained than that.”

Shaw grunted. She hated it when Root had a point. After a few seconds more she pushed the gun away, turning.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m warning you, though-”

“I look forward to the tongue-lashing later,” Root said. “Want to take notes?”

“I’ll remember.”

“You’re sure?” Root said. “It’s the most special moment of your life. Well, apart from our wedding. We ought to plan that too. I’m thinking huge white wedding, lots of flowers-”

“Don’t push your luck,” Shaw said.

“You didn’t like it?” Root pouted. “I thought it was sweet. Huge crowd, I’m thinking, ooh, Wind Beneath My Wings for our first dance, I-”

“ _No_ ,” Shaw said, flatly.

“You’d prefer Come What May?”

“One of them dies at the end of that, right?” Shaw said. “Could be fitting.”

“Ooh!” Root gave an utterly delighted grin, and Shaw instinctively got a sinking feeling. “You’ve seen Moulin Rouge? Knew you had a soft side, sweetie.”

“Movie night at college,” Shaw said defensively. “I didn’t get a choice.”

“But you remembered the song,” Root said happily.

“Preferred Roxanne,” Shaw said.

“Is a good song,” Root said. She said back, contemplatively. “Not really good for our wedding, unless you want to really change our backstory.”

“No.”

“Fine,” Root pouted. “We still need a song.”

“Small ceremony,” Shaw said. “Just a few friends were there. Just about us. No reception, no damn dance. Got it?”

“Could live with that,” Root said. “I talked you down from a lavish spectacle.”

“No,” Shaw said.

“You’re no fun,” Root said. “Fine. I’ll keep notes for when you want to do this for real.”

Of course Root had an ulterior motive. She was a good agent, Shaw would grudgingly admit that, but she focused on other things far too easily.

How had they gotten to planning a wedding anyway? Oh, right.

“You _said_ you had something for me to memorize,” Shaw said.

“What? Ah, yes,” Root said. She moved until she was in front of Shaw. “Your proposal. We met at a drama club-”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Shaw said.

“Only way I could explain this,” Root said. She tapped where her tattoo lay: “I was cast as your wife. All-female production of Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, you got to be Petruchio. You took me to see a local version, and we couldn’t stand it and left after the first act.”

“Can live with that,” Shaw said.

“You thought seeing it would be romantic,” Root said.

“Not so much with that.”

“It wasn’t,” Root said. “Pretty much all of it spoiled the mood. You’re not good with romance.”

“Getting better.”

“We had such a fun time behind the scenes when we were performing though,” Root said. “Thought it was sweet.”

“Getting worse.”

“Wandered the streets for a bit to fill time before our dinner reservation,” Root said. “Smart place. Violinists playing, and when we finally arrived champagne came to the table and they poured the ring into my-”

“Could you pick any more of a cliché?”

“Clichés work,” Root said. “Why, how would you do it really? Could go back to them after, tell them I was just trying to tease you. How would you propose?”

Shaw stared, flatly.

“What?” Root said, innocently.

“No.”

“Cliché it is,” Root said. “You gave the whole speech too. ‘Will you do me the honour of making me the happiest-’”

“No.”

“What would you suggest we replace the story with?” Root said. “We need a good proposal, don’t you think? Just wouldn’t be right.”

Shaw gave a long, exasperated sigh.

“You asked,” she said simply. “I said no. You asked again, and again. I said yes to make you shut up. Suits your character.”

“So that’s what I’ll have to do?” Root said. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Divorce is still on the table,” Shaw said.

“But you love me.”

“No.”

“Fine,” Root pouted. “I’ll sleep on the couch then.”

“We’re not that kind of couple,” Shaw said. She didn’t want to lose the one upside to this assignment.

“So you _do_ care,” Root said. She grinned.


	39. Am I Dying?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request:   
> Would love a chapter where Root is a doctor and Shaw the patient -perhaps in the military.

Sameen Shaw of indeterminate rank was wheeled urgently into the field hospital. Semi-severe bullet wound: upper chest, painfully close to far too many major organs.

Root hurried to her side, efficiently getting to work. Begin to anaesthetize, and strip wound while waiting for it to take effect. Prepare.

She caught a glimpse of black ink, and did her best to quickly school her expression. Those tattoos were known to be right over the heart: if a bullet had gone close enough to damage it, that was not good.

It was illegible; letters missing, blood obscuring the rest.

“Am I dying?” Shaw said, slightly woozily from the drugs starting to take effect.

And there was her tattoo spoken. Root shrugged it off; she was a doctor way too close to the front lines, she heard it ten times a day.

“Too much paperwork,” she said, distractedly. “Not going to happen.”

Shaw murmured something indistinct. Root breathed a sigh of relief: there was the anaesthetic kicking in. Now she could get to work.

She was in a rush, given how many people were coming in, but she made sure not to be too hasty. Extract the bullet, stem the bleeding, check for nicks and infection, ensure nothing was damaged…

When it looked clear she moved out, swabbing the wound to prevent of infection. Wipe away the blood, prefer a dressing-

She nearly froze when she saw _Too m___ paperwork_ tattooed on her skin, a hole right in the middle.

Acting quickly, she dressed the wound as though she hadn’t noticed.

The human body was like a machine. That was why she’d pursued this course; she liked machines, and nothing was quite as complex as the mess of veins and muscles and bones that made up a human.

Know how it worked, you could do anything. Dangerous zones like this appealed to her, with plenty of opportunity to test her skills.

Root double-checked the few details they had. Rank insignia had been ruined by the gunshot, but her name had been given. Root made sure she could remember what the woman looked like, and the area of the field ward she was in, before leaving.

The day quietened down after several hours. Her last patient seen to, a weary Root found her way back to Shaw’s bedside. She still seemed to be knocked out.

Gratefully, Root took the opportunity to just sit down and do nothing. A fair few of the other doctors were taking the rare chance to do the same.

Shaw’s eyes flickered open.

“How are you feeling?” Root said.

“Like I’ve been shot,” Shaw said.

“Not disoriented then. Good sign,” Root said. “How much do you remember?”

“Getting shot.”

“And after?”

“I’d been shot,” Shaw said. “Anything else I should remember?”

“Do you remember being brought here?”

“Should I?”

Root paused. Ok, so she wouldn’t remember their brief exchange. It wasn’t too surprising, a mix of shock and anaesthesia running through her system.

Still, it was a pain.

“You asked if you were dying.”

“If this is the time you tell me I did die-”

“I said it was too much paperwork,” Root said.

She didn’t exactly have any idea of how this conversation was meant to go. Wasn’t meant to happen out here: Root suspected the only reason Shaw was out here was that paperwork was rarely a topic on the front lines.

Still slightly woozy, it was a few seconds before Shaw’s expression shifted to understanding.

“Think that’s right,” Root said. “You’ll be missing three letters thanks to that gunshot. Could be your soulmate’s grammatically challenged and it’s ‘too many paperwork,’ but it seems unlikely.”

A longer pause. Shaw blinked a few times, clearing her eyes, and taking in the doctor sitting by her.

“You’re… you call yourself Root, right?”

“You a fan?” Root said. She smirked.

“They talk about you,” Shaw said. “Practical joker.”

Well, it wasn’t an entirely unearned reputation.

“Not this time I’m afraid,” Root said. “Few nurses were around, you can ask them.”

She tugged at her uniform to reveal her own tattoo. It was rare tattoos formed any kind of conversation.

Shaw waited for a few seconds more. She glanced down at her wound, comparing this conversation to being shot. She didn’t seem certain as to which was worse.

“Too much _paperwork_ for me to die?” Shaw said, after a moment.

“Well there is a lot. So don’t go getting injured just so you can see me again,” Root said, beaming playfully.

“Not going to be a problem,” Shaw said. “Trust me.”

“And brush your teeth,” Root said. “And try to eat well. If we’re soulmates, I’m going to look after you.”

“Root-”

“No getting shot.”

“Keep on like this, I won’t be the one getting shot.”


	40. Watch Where You're Walking 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel by request.

“You know, you have terrible interior design,” Root said, taking her first step into Shaw’s apartment.

“I wonder why,” Shaw said.

Now they were home, Shaw knew the way around. Bear ran away from her, eagerly returning to his project of gnawing on an old pair of slippers Shaw had given up on.

Shaw might have a bit of pride, but it didn’t get in her way. She knew she needed help sometimes; she knew it would be a long time before she was fully adjusted. Even so, that wasn’t the case at home.

She didn’t need to touch the walls. Three and a half small paces, right turn, four medium paces… She’d long since mentally mapped out the whole place. It was one of the first things she did.

“Seriously,” Root said. Her voice came from not far behind Shaw: “Little splash of paint, couple of decorations, it couldn’t hurt.”

“Why bother?”

“Might have people over,” Root said. “You do now. Any others?”

“No,” Shaw said, curtly.

“Really?” Root said. She seemed surprised. Shaw had gotten the hang of reading voices, it made conversations much less boring. “Thought you’d have plenty of friends visiting.”

“I don’t want pity,” Shaw said. “Those ones aren’t allowed to visit. Most of the rest are deployed.”

“So, no one?”

“Bear,” Shaw said.

She heard a bark as he heard his name. Normally he went right to her side whenever she said his name. This time, instead, she heard a delighted laugh from Root.

Traitor.

“Don’t you need a few?” Root said. “I mean, I’m no expert, but not being able to see has to have downsides. Don’t you need a driver, or-”

“It’s New York,” Shaw said. “Who drives?”

“Fair point,” Root said. There was a pause: by the sounds Bear made Shaw guessed Root was stroking him. “So just you and the dog?”

“When you’re not stealing him.”

“Not sorry about that,” Root said.

Shaw walked over to her chair. She didn’t like to stand in the middle of the floor for too long, in case she forgot her position. A landmark usually helped.

When she was standing with one hand on the chair’s arm, she turned back to where Root and Bear had been.

“Ok,” she said. “Ground rules. No moving anything. I don’t care if you think it’s funny, this is my place. Don’t move anything, whether it’s a toothbrush or a chair. Got it?”

“Yep,” Root said.

Shaw jumped. The voice came from maybe a centimetre or so from her shoulder.

“Rule two, I’m going to get you a bell,” Shaw said.

“Bracelet or collar?” Root said.

It took Shaw a moment to recognize that edge of flirtatiousness in Root’s voice.

“ _Really_?”

“What?” Root said. “I’ll be honest, didn’t know quite how to react to begin with, but you’re the one that offered to collar me.”

“Just wanted to avoid you sneaking around.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Root said.

Shaw heard pacing. Despite her playfulness, it sounded like Root was nonetheless making an effort to be a little noisier. She heard footfalls, varying in pitch and loudness.

Presumably Root was pacing, looking around her apartment. Shaw stayed still.

“So,” Root said, suddenly. “Clothing optional?”

“What?”

“Well, if you’re not getting visitors, and I doubt you’ll mind, I don’t see the point,” Root said.

“I mind,” Shaw said.

“Why?”

Shaw briefly counted from one to five, exhaling slowly.

“Just keep your clothes on,” Shaw said.

“Aww,” Root gave the audible equivalent of a pout. Then: “Too late.”

“I’d have heard if you’d started taking things off,” Shaw said. “You’re annoying enough without needing to lie.”

“Thank you,” Root said, happily. “Would it help if I told you I’m hot?”

“Sure you are,” Shaw said. “Not really a huge concern for me anyway.”

“Still, thought you should know.”


	41. Who to Avoid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very vague interest in a historical AU, and people seem to like speculation as to how the world might change in this sort of soulmate AU, so this was written purely because I was curious as to how things might work in the past before, say, literacy was as widespread.

1342

Root rode into town on a horse. Technically her title was Route, as she’d been nicknamed, but with how few people could spell she opted for the neater, simpler word.

Route: the route to happiness, route to another half, route to truth… The meanings were endless. To be honest, she just liked the sound.

Not many people could read. The clergy read the Bible, but often struggled with other words (and with English for that matter), and only a handful of towns had scholars. Most people had no one to teach them, and no time to be taught even if there were.

So that left Root. She lived off donations and gratitude, trading her intelligence for a good life.

People were still curious about their soulmates, even if the black scrawls on their chests were gibberish to them. That was where she came in; she could interpret them easily. Spend a few nights in a village, she earned her keep with her knowledge, then move on.

Word spread quickly. People like Root were known of, but not necessarily a common sight. Even if others had come to the village before, not everyone would have had the chance to talk to them.

A dozen or so people came to her over the course of her first day. All ages, all kinds of people: couples who wanted to know if they were fated, curious children, and others who just wanted to know on principle.

She never stayed long. When word really did get around, it often became too busy.

It was late when a woman came to her small fire. Dark haired, wary, one of the older people Root had seen.

“You want to know too, then?” Root said.

“I want to know who to avoid,” the woman said.

_I want to know who to avoid_. One of the first tattoos Root had read was, obviously, her own. She hadn’t spent much time working on what that could mean, too distracted with others.

“Do you now?” Root said. “Can’t help you there, can help you with your soulmate though. Who are you?”

“Shaw,” the woman said.

She moved closer, and sat just beside Root. Both were lit by the flickering light of the fire.

“Well, Shaw,” Root said. She hesitated, wanting to delay looking at the tattoo: “Who to avoid, huh? That’s a new one.”

“Not everyone wants a soulmate.”

“Those that don’t rarely come to me,” Root said. She offered a smile: “You can tell me the truth, sweetie.”

Shaw replied with a flat glare. Ok then. Her soulmate wanted to avoid soulmates, that figured.

“Ok then,” Root said. “Let’s see it.”

Slightly irate, Shaw tugged at her neckline. The loose fabric easily shifted enough to display her tattoo, _You want to know too_ emblazoned just as Root expected.

Root took a moment, pretending it took her a few seconds more to work out. As far as Shaw knew, reading took a while.

What was she meant to do? Her soulmate, fine: she was only human, she was intrigued by the idea. As a general rule though, she couldn’t just claim to be the soulmate of whoever came up to her. Who’d trust that?

And then there was the fact Shaw just wanted to avoid her soulmate.

“Get me out of here,” Root said, intoning as though she were reading. It was one of the more memorable tattoos she’d seen in her last village.

“That’s what they’ll say?”

“Word for word,” Root said.

It was an odd thing to lie about, she reflected, as Shaw left.

Root rarely bothered with guilt, but she’d admit that the more she thought about it, the more perturbed she felt. In a profession like hers, it felt odd to lie.

And maybe Shaw would change her mind, in which case she’d think herself soulmate-less. She’d likely never meet someone who said that to her, and whose tattoo she matched.

It was the next morning that Root found herself wandering in the village. She helped a couple more people, before finding her way to Shaw.

“Hello?” Shaw said, slightly confused.

“I lied,” Root said.

“Excuse me?”

“Your tattoo,” Root said. “That wasn’t what it said.”

“And what did it say?”

Root hesitated.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Root said. Well, it was likely true; it was harder to trust a stranger’s word if it was self-serving.

“That’s helpful.”

“I could teach you,” Root said. “To read, I mean. You can figure it out yourself.”

“I can’t pay you,” Shaw said.

“You don’t have to,” Root said. “Just, let me know if you’re interested. I’ll stay in town if you are.”

And maybe Shaw wouldn’t avoid her, then. Root didn’t quite know why she didn’t like that prospect, but she did feel pretty confident in her soulmate. The people she’d seen always seemed to be happy.


	42. What the Hell?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root does not understand the concept of 'an appropriate time to flirt.'

Some gangs made a lot of enemies. Inevitably that ended like this: gunfire echoing up and down the neighbourhood, with everyday people trying to hide.

Shaw couldn’t say too much about the politics. Someone had offended someone, someone had died, someone had been a pain… all culminating in what more or less seemed to be all-out war. She’d been hired to put in a little extra help for one side.

She lay down covering fire, crouching behind a car and only shifting sideways to aim and shoot. After a few minutes it seemed she was making headway.

She wasn’t the only one: a fair few people were in the gang that had hired her. They knew her face, though she could only recognize a handful of them; she just figured she’d gauge who was friend and who was foe by position and where they were facing.

Four more shots, then she ducked around and hurried, crouching, to the next car down the street. Someone else had picked it as a shelter too: it was a good position, closer, with an alley to the side for a quick escape.

Shaw didn’t do much beyond offer a cursory nod to the woman, before curling her head around the side of the car and shooting. She saw someone keel backwards.

“Anyone ever told you, you look cute with a gun?” the woman said.

“What the hell?!” Shaw said, instinctively.

Partly it was a reaction to having someone suddenly talk to her in the middle of a gunfight, partly it was down to the fact this was possibly the worst time to flirt, and partly it was because she knew those words.

And judging by the grin slowly spreading across the woman’s face, she recognized Shaw’s response too.

“Well, hey soulmate. Good to meet you,” the woman said.

She paused briefly to stand and fire through the shattered windows on the car.

“I’m Root,” she said. “You must be Shaw. Heard we were outsourcing.”

Shaw didn’t respond. After a couple of seconds more she and Root moved in unison, aiming and firing and retreating back into cover.

“I mean it though,” Root said. “Holding a gun suits you. Kinda hot.”

“Can we _please_ do this another time?” Shaw said.

“Why, you busy?” Root said.

Shaw rolled her eyes. She stuck her head out again, withdrawing to narrowly avoid a bullet.

It wasn’t looking good; she had the feeling their foes were laying down covering fire more than trying to hold them off. Which meant-

There was an ungodly whine; Shaw glanced an empty car hurtling towards them. Wedged accelerator most likely, possibly wired to blow. Pretty good as far as improvised weapons go.

“Top or bottom?” Root said.

Somehow, for a second, Shaw forgot the likely-explosive car heading straight for them.

“ _What_ ,” Shaw said, flatly.

Then she remembered the car. She fired once more, before standing and sprinting the short distance into the alleyway. Root wasn’t too far behind, talking all the while.

“Just wondering,” she said. “Soulmate and all. Kinda curious.”

There was a whine as the car raced past them. Sure enough, Shaw glimpsed a mass of something in the back seat. Seconds later there was a bang, and a flash and whoosh of heat.

“Not a good time,” Shaw said, again.

Root leaned past, body just a little too close to Shaw’s as she fired around the alley wall.

“The alley isn’t that cramped,” Shaw said.

“Further back I am, easier it is for them to shoot me,” Root said. “Wouldn’t want your soulmate to get hurt now, would she?”

Root battered her eyelashes.

“At this stage I’ll shoot you myself,” Shaw said.

“I’ll save myself for you, then,” Root said.

They fired again together. Shaw distinctly felt Root’s chest pressed against her back.

“Can you at least wait until we’re not being shot at?” Shaw said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Root said.


	43. How Much? 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to How Much? By request.   
> A lot of people want Root killed. Shaw's slowly becoming one of them.

Unsurprisingly, another contract went out on Root in a matter of days. Shaw had been sent the alert: she sat up, rubbing her eyes clear, and nudged Root awake. It was only polite.

“Hey sweetie,” Root said. “Anything fun?”

“Probably going to be hired to kill you soon,” Shaw said. “Someone else is looking to pay, figure they’ll find me soon enough.”

“Have they yet?” Root said.

“No.”

“So you wanted to warn me?” Root said. “Aww, that’s sweet.”

“Only polite,” Shaw said. “Doubt you’d be able to stop me this time.”

“Still want to kill me?” Root pouted. She seemed astonishingly light-hearted. “Tell me you’d regret it the tiniest bit though.”

“I’d still do it. It’s my job.”

“But you would regret it?” Root beamed. “All I wanted to know.”

“Don’t mind being shot?”

Root shrugged. “I watch TV, bound to happen sooner or later. Though, one thing.”

“What?”

“What if I hired you first?” Root said.

“My cost is more than great sex,” Shaw said.

“You think it’s great?” Root beamed. “But fine. Say, ooh, two million, target being anyone who’s sent to kill me. Figure that’ll cover it.”

Shaw paused. Two million was… a lot.

“How do you plan to pay that?”

“Stolen money,” Root said. She shrugged. “Partly from the people who hired you to kill me last time. Seems fitting, if you ask me.”

“Using money that was meant to make me kill you, to make me keep you alive,” Shaw said. “I like how you think sometimes.”

“You’re bound to,” Root said. “Soulmates, remember?”

Root smiled in what she no doubt thought was a winning way. Shaw stared flatly.

“Price has gone up,” Shaw said. “Hundred K more every time you try to annoy me like that.”

“I’ve got close to ten million stashed away,” Root said. “Worth it.”

Shaw slowly fell back. Somehow she’d always known she was going to end up regretting keeping Root alive.


	44. You Started It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root's hurrying for an elevator, Shaw doesn't want to share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or: that story where Shaw's quite possibly going to self-concuss. Based on a sort-of prompt.

Root caught a glimpse of the elevator down the hall. Someone was already inside it; hurriedly she waved and started running.

She noticed the woman within rather angrily stab a finger at one of the buttons. A moment later and the doors started to close. Well that was just rude.

Root ran, somehow making it down the hallway just in time to slip sideways into the elevator. She shot a glare at the woman, before looking back at the keypad. She was going to floor 22. Root pressed 27, her own destination, and stepped back.

Then, in a fit of petulance, stepped forwards again and proceeded to press every number from 1 to 22. Rather pleased, Root moved back against the wall.

The doors shut at last, having been interrupted by Root’s hurrying through. A short time later, _bing_ as they reached the next floor.

Root looked sideways to the woman. If looks could kill, Root would be on her way to the choir invisible just then.

“You started it,” Root said, after a moment.

The woman banged the back of her head against the elevator wall, and groaned.

 _Bing_.

After a few moments, the door slowly shut again. Root shifted, standing with her back to the back wall herself. She rested her hands on the rails, waiting patiently.

Ok, she hadn’t been in any particular hurry (as this latest stunt attested), but it was the principle of the thing.

 _Bing_.

“That’ll teach you to try and close the elevator door on me,” Root said.

The woman banged her head once more against the wall.

 _Bing_.

“So, what are you doing here?” Root said eventually.

It was remarkable how quickly a bing-punctuated silence could become awkward. Every floor looked as though it was empty.

Root waited.

 _Bing_.

“This’d probably be over by now if you hadn’t-” Root began.

“Will you _shut up_?” the woman said.

Root paused. Blinked. She unwittingly obeyed, caught slightly by surprised. It was the first thing she’d heard the woman say.

It was also something she’d had tattooed on her chest for as long as she could remember. Everyone Root had always known had been amused by that.

“Can I see your tattoo?” Root piped up.

“No,” the woman said.

“Please?” Root said. “If you don’t show me, I’m going to have to assume the worst.”

 _Bing_.

The woman remained perfectly still, staring at the ever opening-and-closing doors.

“Any reason you were in such a rush?” Root said. After a few moment more she spoke again; “Look, I know you have a voice now, you can speak to me.”

The woman rolled her eyes despairingly.

“Doesn’t really matter now does it?” she said.

_Bing._

“I just hate having to share the elevator with one other person,” she said. “It’s… Well, it’s like this.”

“Still rude,” Root said.

“So you had to stop on every damn floor?”

“You started it,” Root said.

The woman banged her head again. Root regarded her.

 _Bing_.

“Root,” she said, offering a hand. “Seeing as we’re going to be stuck together for the next god-knows how long.”

“Shaw,” the woman said after a moment. She didn’t shake the offered hand. 

Root looked up to the top of the door. Were they really only on the 9th floor? That wasn’t even halfway.

“So,” Root said, eventually. “Soulmate huh?”

“Shut up.”

 _Bing_.

“You’d prefer to wait twelve floors in silence?” Root said.

“To this, yes,” Shaw said.

Root pouted. Shaw looked away, refusing to give her even a moment’s entertainment. Root sighed.

 _Bing_.

“So what’s on floor 22?” Root said.

“Meeting,” Shaw said. “Which I’m now late for. So thanks.”

“Any time,” Root smiled. “How long is it?”

“Why do you care?”

_Bing._

“In case I wanted to see you again,” Root said. “I’m just dropping something off, so I won’t be long.”

“Why would I want to help you?” Shaw said.

“Because,” Root said.

 _Bing_.

“Because, we’re soulmates,” Root said. “Be a shame to run into each other, and then never meet again.”

“You trapped me in an elevator with you.”

 _Bing_.

“Not what I’d call a great start,” Shaw said.

“I’m not stopping you getting out,” Root said. She gestured to the open door.

“Sure,” Shaw said, “But I’m not getting out and walking up-”

_Bing._

“Seven flights of stairs. You’re not that much of a pain.”

“I could try harder, if you’d prefer,” Root said.

Shaw banged her head again.

 _Bing_.

“So how many flights would you prefer to me?” Root said. “If you only had two to go, would you-”

“Seriously?”

“Anything else you’d rather talk about?” Root said.

 _Bing_.

“I’d rather you shut up,” Shaw said. “ _This_ is why I shut the door on you.”

Root beamed. After a few seconds more:

“Three,” Shaw said.

_Bing._

“What?” Root said.

“Three flights of stairs,” Shaw said. “You’re that annoying.”

“Oh,” Root said. She glanced up; there was only one floor to go. She pressed the button to keep the door open, smiling at Shaw. “And now?”

Shaw rolled her eyes. After a few more seconds, when it became apparent Root wasn’t budging, she walked forward and left the elevator.

“One and a half hours,” Shaw said.

“What is?”

“My meeting,” Shaw said. “And if you follow me up the stairs I’m going to push you down them.”

“Got it,” Root said.

She smiled, released the button. Then, after a moment, Shaw walked back into the lift and pressed every button between floor 22 and Root’s destination. Pleased with herself, Shaw left.

Root raised her eyebrows.

“What?” Shaw said. “You started it.”


	45. Septentrio 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw gets abducted by Root. How all good love stories start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't had a multi-part entry for a while. Just playing around with a couple of concepts and details I haven't done much with, and then a whole pot came out of it.   
> Five parts, and like the previous longer entries these may see more than one update a day.

Shaw hadn’t expected the taser. Then, apparently just to be sure, she felt a chemical-soaked rag be pressed against her face.

Shaw awoke in some darkened room. She gently exerted a little force on her wrists and ankles, trying to still feign unconsciousness. Restraints. Slowly she became aware of them, bindings keeping her arms at her sides, and her legs together.

She kept her eyes only cracked open, adjusting slowly to the darkness. She vaguely became aware of movement; there was someone crouched down there. Her abductor, no doubt.

“Won’t be long, before Septentrio finds…” she was murmuring to herself.

The stranger stood up. It was a woman, with long dark hair, some indistinct machine in one hand, and a mildly ridiculous knife in the other.

Shaw tensed, doing what she could to tug on the binding around her wrist. No luck; whoever this was, she knew how to tie someone up.

“Oh,” the woman tilted her head. “Awake huh? Yeah, sorry about that, running low on chloroform.”

Shaw considered feigning unconsciousness for a few seconds. It didn’t take long before she realized her situation couldn’t get much worse; it was very hard to ignore the knife in the woman’s hand.

“Was this really necessary?” Shaw said.

“Afraid so,” the woman said. “Long story, don’t worry about it. Just give me a few minutes.”

“To do what?”

The woman gave a slightly terrifying grin, and leaned closer brandishing the knife. It touched Shaw’s skin: then shifted back, cutting at her top rather than her skin. Soon she’d removed a neat square of fabric, leaving no real mark on Shaw.

“You didn’t need a knife to do that,” Shaw said.

“I know,” the woman said. She glanced up; “Figured you deserved a moment of relief. It’s this next part that’s going to hurt.”

She put down the knife, and lifted up the other device. It looked almost like a drill, only with a thicker end, maybe the size of a thumb. A coarse circle stood out on the very tip. A moment later and it was whirring, making a rather discomforting sound.

“And what’s _that_ for?” Shaw said, unconcerned.

Pain had never particularly bothered her. She’d probably done worse for kicks. The woman seemed somewhat pleased by her lack of fear.

“Dermabrasion,” she said, and tapped one finger on Shaw’s tattoo. “Normally done with a local anaesthetic, but I didn’t have any to spare. And like I said, running out of chloroform. Sorry, kinda hoped you’d stay out for this part.”

The spinning wheel was touched to Shaw’s chest. It was a couple of seconds before it did start to hurt.

_Do you know where B23 is?_ It wasn’t the most romantic of tattoos, but at least it was distinctive. She’d met her soulmate at med school; a few of his friends were playing a slight prank on him, apparently, sending him to a B-23 that didn’t exist.

She’d never been too concerned about having a soulmate, but he was adaptable thankfully. Ultimately he was just someone she could trust, and who she could use to claim a few extra tax benefits.

And now those letters were slowly being worn away. The woman ran the device over Shaw’s chest, leaving stinging, raw flesh in its wake. Shaw didn’t want to move enough to glance down, but she could imagine how the exposed lower layers of skin must look.

She clenched her hands into fists and waited it out.

“Funny thing,” the woman was saying, “There are meant to be easier ways to remove tattoos, but it never works for these. And wouldn’t work for what I wanted anyway. Ever had a tattoo removed? No? Yes? Come on, you could at least talk, this is very boring.”

The woman’s hands slipped just slightly; Shaw gave the smallest gasp as the whirling wheel pressed too close to her.

“Laser removal, for one,” the woman said. “Break down the pigments, let it get absorbed by the skin. That works just fine, for most tattoos. Not for these, though. It’s special ink. Well, what else would you expect, really? It is a kind of ink, after all, not just a discolouration like used to be thought, but it doesn’t just get absorbed by the body no matter what you try. Pretty much just have to cut this stuff out of you, or cover it in some new injury, if you want to hide them.”

Which left dermabrasion: stripping away the top layers of skin to expose the tattooed layer. That explained the machine at least.

Still, Shaw was slowly getting used to the feeling. Far from pleasant, but she’d had worse.

“Still not speaking? Fine then,” the woman said. “Anyway, even if I could, lasers wouldn’t do here. I want the ink. Have to expose it somehow, this is usually better. Even so, can generally only get a couple of drops per person, most doesn’t last. Oh, and you’re quieter than most are when I do this, so thanks.”

The woman withdrew and clicked the device of. She surveyed her work. Uncertainly, Shaw shifted to look at her chest, breathing a little more easily now that was done with.

An ugly red mess where her tattoo used to be. There were only a few spots where blood had been drawn, for the post part it was just raw and aching. A few spots still had some darker discolouration.

The woman stared for a long few seconds, then shrugged.

“Sorry,” she said, “Looks like this was a waste of time.”

“You’re telling me,” Shaw said, flatly.

“Not my fault,” the woman said. “You could’ve mentioned your tattoo was fake. Would have saved us both a lot of time.”

A moment of silence.

“What?”

“I’ve done this a lot,” the woman said. She tapped the raw skin, ignoring how Shaw hissed. “I know what the real stuff does. Even if there are only a couple of drops, it always tries to reform the same words. That stuff’s not moving. It’s garden variety ink, I know a fake when I see one.”

Shaw hesitated. It wasn’t often she was caught off guard.

It was an odd lie, if it was one. Pointless too. But Shaw had that tattoo for as long as she could remember; sure, she’d never felt the spark she’d heard others express from her soulmate, but she’d also never been particularly concerned with the idea. It didn’t matter.

But, fake?

“You didn’t know?” the woman said. There was something oddly contemplative in her eyes, now.

Shaw didn’t say anything. She wasn’t going to give her abductor a moment of triumph. Still, she couldn’t help but act surprised when the woman tugged at the restraints to free an arm.

“One of those, then,” she said. “Hi. I’m Root.”

Shaw lunged for her, and she stepped back. Still, with one arm free Shaw could quickly work on her other arm and leg. She could ignore the dim, stinging ache of what had once been her tattoo.

Freed, she sat up. Root was standing a few steps away, near the wall of the room, and still holding her knife. Still, she didn’t seem particularly worried.

“Way I see it,” Root said, “You’ve got two choices. Walk out the door, or stay and listen.”

“Or kill you,” Shaw said.

“Sure,” Root shrugged, conceding. “If you’re going to do that, might as well listen first though, don’t you think? Might change your mind. And might answer a question or two of yours.”

“You kidnapped and tortured me,” Shaw said, flatly.

“Wasn’t torture,” Root said. “Torture’s to get information, I was just trying to get ink. And I didn’t get any anyway, so does it matter? We’ve both suffered, and I apologized, can we move on?”

Shaw stared.

“Don’t you want to know why your tattoo’s fake?”

“According to you,” Shaw said.

“According to anyone,” Root said. “Use your phone, look it up. Soulmate-ink in skin always tries to form the first words your soulmate says to you, no matter how little’s left. Those drops left in you, that I was going to collect, aren’t doing a thing. Why do you think that is?”

Shaw paused.

“You’ve met your soulmate anyway, haven’t you?” Root said.

Shaw said nothing. Whoever this was, Shaw wasn’t certain she wanted to say that much to her.

“That’s a yes, then,” Root said. “Your type always would have, by now. You have to know something’s wrong. No way to fake a perfect connection.”

Another pause, then Shaw exhaled.

“My type?” She said. “What’s that meant to mean?”

“Long story,” Root said. She sat down on a far table. “Septentrio mean anything to you? No. Ok. So, listening?”

Shaw paused.

“For now.”


	46. Septentrio 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2!

“Operation Septentrio,” Root said. “Top secret government-sponsored project in the early 80s.”

“Which is relevant how?” Shaw said.

“Just wait,” Root said. “Cold war was worrying the higher-ups, and the biggest fear was loyalty: they needed people who’d give their life and more for the country. So they planned for the future. Only a handful of people knew about it, and the victims definitely weren’t among them.”

“And what was it?”

“Artificial soulmates,” Root said. “They picked babies who needed to stay in the hospital for examination, and got a doctor to borrow them for half an hour, remove their actual tattoo, and give them a new one. Any scarring was said to be natural, and part of the reason for examination.”

Fake soulmates. Shaw listened silently, then.

“It’s hidden,” Root said. “Government buildings all over the US, all with top secret rooms in, and in a one there’ll be a list. Names, social security numbers, maybe even the old tattoos.”

“Do you know how many had theirs… replaced?” Shaw said.

“Little over four hundred, I think,” Root said. “It was abandoned when they realized they needed more immediate action. Still, they kept the records: they get to see if the plan works.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”

“You’d be surprised,” Root said. “Your soulmate, would you have looked at them twice if they haven’t said the right words? Automatic loyalty, more or less, inherent trust… You should check the polls, 89% of people say they’d side with their soulmate no matter what. It’s how it’s meant to work: perfect match, perfect person to trust, if it’s really them.”

There was something to it, Shaw had to admit.

People would trust her soulmates. Even she had, despite her disinterest in the concept in general. Whatever else, she’d thought it meant she had an ally.

Others would trust far more. And yes, there was loyalty there: or there was meant to be. So there could be a benefit, people bound by soulmate to the government, who wouldn’t turn traitor and who would do anything, if the plan worked.

“If it’s top secret, how do you know this?” Shaw said. “Sounds like a conspiracy theory.”

“I asked the right people,” Root said. “Hacked the occasional government server. This was right on the most secure level, just next to nuclear codes and surveillance programmes: the kind of thing they really don’t want getting out.”

“And you were hacking the government why?”

“I was bored,” Root said. “There were references to projects studying the ink, and you know that’s a hobby of mine. I just followed the information.”

“And what’s so special about the ink?”

“Everything.”

Root beamed. Shaw glared. After a few seconds more, Root pouted and continued.

“Fine,” Root said. “But think about it: the universe doesn’t care about us. It’s cold, it’s dark, it’s empty. We’re on one tiny little rock about one tiny little star, in one unimportant galaxy, and in a cosmic blink of an eye we’ll be gone. That’s all we are to the universe. Except for one little thing.”

Root stood, walked across, and tapped Shaw’s chest. She didn’t seem to notice or care how that stung.

“The tattoos,” Root said. “The only sign that anything in the universe cares that we exist. So, yep, I think they’re special, the tattoos and the ink. Why wouldn’t I want a little extra?”

Shaw was worried how that made sense. It probably said a little too much about Root that she’d do this to people for such a small reason.

So, Root collected the ink, and in doing so had stumbled on some secret government project involving giving people fake soulmates to create loyalty. And if Shaw’s tattoo was fake, she was likely one of those people.

Shaw had a very distinct view of people who tried to manipulate her.

“If I believe you,” Shaw said, slowly.

“I can give you your life story, if it helps,” Root said.

“So you looked me up. Big deal,” Shaw said.

“Does it look like this was well-researched?” Root said. “I go for whoever I can. Everyone has a tattoo, no need to be specific. Not like I’m taking much from them anyway, they’ve already memorized the words.”

Well, Shaw would admit that much. It didn’t look as though a great deal of planning had gone into this, beyond finding a target and exposing the ink of their tattoo.

“You were born in or near Washington,” Root said. “By your age, yep, you would have met someone who said your tattoo. They freaked when you replied and ran away without showing, only to return a little later to show you their tattoo. They don’t talk much about their job, and don’t seem to have any work friends. Sometimes you can’t help but feel something’s missing; it’s not as perfect as it ought to be. Likely they’re patriotic, maybe taking you to a few events. Probably ex-military. Sound familiar?”

It did. Worryingly so: and in light of what Root had said, suspiciously so.

Shaw shifted. She sat back, less poised to lunge at Root, at least for the time being.

“Angry?” Root said. She seemed amused.

“Kinda, yeah,” Shaw said. “What do you expect?”

“Want to do something about it?”

Shaw paused. She regarded the possibly-homicidal woman opposite her. She seemed to have moved on from peeling Shaw’s skin off rather quickly; Shaw didn’t know quite what to make of that.

Still, there was something here. Something that made Shaw angry, and it took a lot to have an effect on her.

“Go on,” Shaw said.

“I’m not the only one interested in the ink,” Root said. “I reckon they’ll have kept a lot of it, for study at least. Not the easiest substance to get hold of. So if we can find and break in to one of the buildings where some of Operation Septentrio is stored, you can get a little payback, leak some rather embarrassing information for the people responsible, and I can more ink than I could get in, ooh, a year. Sound good?”

“If it’s so good, why haven’t you done it before?”

“Never had a lead,” Root said. “Just a few servers with references to the old project, no data on its current state. You, though, give me a lead. Seeing someone?”

“Why?”

“Mind if I torture your soulmate?” Root said, giving a wonderfully demented grin. “I mean, I know, torture almost never produces good information, but it is fun don’t you think?”

“Right now,” Shaw said, “I’d be happy to help.”


	47. Septentrio 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root and Shaw bond over torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one update today, and two tomorrow to finish off the story.

Shaw’s not-soulmate was tied up in the basement. If she needed any further proof, his reaction the moment he saw Root provided it. Apparently her nosing around had brought her to Operation Septentrio’s attention.

So, not her soulmate. Somehow that was a relief.

“This doesn’t bother you?” Root said.

She didn’t seem particularly self-conscious at wandering around Shaw’s home. It took constant vigilance to stop her stealing things from the fridge.

“It’s not something you lie about,” Shaw said. “And I don’t like people trying to control me. So no, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Good,” Root said. “Want to go torment your soulmate a bit more?”

“He’s not my soulmate,” Shaw said. She paused. “And weren’t we trying to get information from him?”

“Sure,” Root said. “You seemed to be enjoying hitting him though.”

“My right, at this point.”

“Not a criticism, trust me,” Root said. “Anyway, I’m planning to.”

“Torture doesn’t get good information,” Shaw said. “You said it yourself. Actual interrogators are meant to go on a whole spiel bonding and connecting with the subject. I doubt either of us is particularly good at that.”

“That’s one way,” Root said. “Unlikely to work here though, especially if he’s trained. I’ll go for usually-doesn’t-work, rather than definitely-won’t-work, unless you’ve got any better ideas?”

“None yet.”

“That’s settled, then,” Root said. She beamed across to Shaw: “Got an iron anywhere?”

Almost an hour later, Root and Shaw were taking a break in the kitchen. No luck yet.

“You’re pretty imaginative,” Root said.

“Med school,” Shaw said. “I know where the nerves are.”

“So I saw,” Root said. “Useful for more than inflicting pain, by any chance?”

Shaw raised her eyebrows, somewhat disbelievingly.

“What?” Root said.

Did she really not notice anything wrong with flirting after they’d just- Shaw shook her head, putting a rather firm end to that line of thinking.

She sipped at her drink. They’d cracked out the good stuff: if her not-soulmate reported to the government, they’d get worried about him soon. If that was the case, Shaw would need to leave this home, so there was no point in stockpiling.

Shaw eyed the bottle on the table for a long moment.

“I think we had a bottle of champagne somewhere,” she said slowly.

“Want to make this a party?” Root said.

“Not for us,” Shaw said. With a rather inappropriate smile on her face, she began to detail an alternative, unpleasant use. For the first time, Root seemed almost surprised.

“Oh, I like you,” Root said. “Want to do the honours?”

“After this,” Shaw said, clinking her glass against Root’s. “Let him stew for a bit.”

Fifteen minutes later and they had an address. Still, they waited a few minutes more for night to fall. Root retied his ropes, and gagged him.

By now, he just seemed grateful to be left alone.

“Take him with us?” Shaw said.

“Why?” Root said. “Don’t tell me you miss him.”

“No,” Shaw made an expression of distaste. She hadn’t been exactly enthralled even when she thought they were soulmates. “Just in case he lied, will be easier to have someone to interrogate, rather than leaving him in the basement and risk him escaping.”

“Fine,” Root said. “I was looking forward to a little bonding time personally. Just the two of us.”

“Last time it was just the two of us you tied me up and took a god-knows-what to my chest,” Shaw said.

“You didn’t like it?” Root pouted.

“ _Root_.”

“We’ll keep him in the trunk,” Root said. “Compromise.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest keeping a trussed up guy in full view of the windows.”

“Then it’s a plan,” Root said. “Road trip!”


	48. Septentrio 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking into high-security installations is always more fun with a partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 4 of 5, the final part will be going up later today.

They parked a short distance from a secure government facility. After a quick reminder to Shaw’s not-soulmate that he’d better not be lying, a check of his bonds, and the lie that they’d placed a timed bomb in the car for if they didn’t come back, they were off.

The two of them feigned innocence as they wandered past. Root had pulled her hair under a hat, and wore sunglasses in case she was recognized. Shaw acted unconcerned; her face was likely to be less well known if there were hundreds of Septentrio candidates, and they had no reason to suspect her anyway.

“He was right,” Root said quietly, idly playing with her phone. “Eighth floor. It’s the only part whose plans I can’t get into.”

“Sure they haven’t noticed you hacking in?” Shaw said. “We don’t want to give advance warning.”

Root looked up, affronted.

“Fine, I get it, you’re some hacker-goddess,” Shaw said. “Just checking.”

“They know someone’s gotten in, they just don’t think I’m in the country,” Root said. “Anyway, that’s not the issue. Issue is actually getting in. You’re a doctor, right?”

“Some military experience,” Shaw said. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised, if Septentrio does what you say it does, I was bound to have some.”

“But you seemed so gentle,” Root said.

Shaw elbowed her. Hard.

“Well, that helps,” Root said, more seriously. “Sneak past guards, get up to eighth floor, I can get us past electronic locks with a little time and luck. And that’s when how confidential this stuff is comes in handy.”

“Does it?”

“We shut the doors behind us,” Root said. “Chances are no one will actually have the clearance to get in. Works out well for us. You find the files, I find the ink.”

“And half hour later they call up someone who has clearance, and shoot us all.”

“Not if we’re clever,” Root said. “And by we, I mean I.”

Another elbow.

“I can threaten to broadcast photos and recordings of everything in that room,” Root said. “Got my tablet, it has a camera, anything I send would be out before they can stop it. I’m willing to bet Operation Septentrio’s just one of the secrets they don’t want getting out.”

“You plan how to break into government facilities often?” Shaw said.

“It’s a hobby,” Root flashed a grin.

Given Root’s manner, it was hard to believe many of her plans would be successful. Ok, Shaw would admit, she was impressive. Figuring out how to ensure they’d stay alive once in the room, being able to effortless hack their servers, her, ah, information gathering…

But apparently her plan for getting into the high security building was to walk through the front door.

“Don’t you trust me?” she’d given such an innocent-looking smile.

“No.”

And yet somehow Shaw had been talked into taking the lead. Keeping a gun close to hand, she walked into the building.

By the look of it, the security relied on a whole host of technical gadgetry. There were no ID cards: most people who worked here couldn’t bring any trace of their job back home.

Shaw hesitated at the first hurdle. It was not unlike a subway barrier, only with armed guards visible in the distance, and a thumbprint scanner.

“Let me,” Root said, leaning forwards and pressing her thumb to the scanner.

It beeped, and the door opened. After a brief, stunned moment, Shaw walked through.

“Since when did you have clearance?” Shaw whispered.

“Since half an hour ago,” Root said. “You were taking forever with keeping your soulmate tied up, I broke into their list of approved personnel. Can take care of the retinal scanners too, when we get to them.”

“Do you actually need my help?” Shaw said.

“Much more fun with someone to look at,” Root said. She smirked; “And, yeah, can’t get into the eighth floor from outside, will need you to act as a human shield while I hack in. That ok?”

Shaw’s mildly insulting response was cancelled when one of the multiple armed guards moved closer to them. Though Shaw hadn’t broken into any such building before, she wasn’t enough of an amateur to get scared.

Root seemed to follow the same school of thinking. As the person who’d had the accepted thumbprint, she stepped forward.

“Guests aren’t allowed,” the guard said.

“She’s not a guest,” Root said.

“I haven’t seen you before,” the guard said. “Even if you’re new, you should have been told to not bring uncleared personnel-”

“Dr Ada Clarke,” Root said. “Look me up. Miss Shaw here is a big part of a project you don’t have anywhere near the clearance level to hear about. Understood?”

The guard took a step back, not to let them pass, but to keep himself shape. He glanced at his phone, cycling through a list of employees presumably.

When he found Root’s manufactured profile, whatever he saw apparently satisfied him.

“My apologies,” he said, quickly. “Go on.”

Root nodded coldly, and turned to flash a grin at Shaw. Shaw rolled her eyes, and followed her on.

Shaw refused to admit to being at all impressed. Still, it was interesting to see the otherwise less-than threatening Root suddenly play at intimidation.

“And if he’d recognized you?” Shaw said.

“You’ve got your gun, right?” Root said. “Firefight would have started a little sooner, that’s all.”

A retinal scan later and they were at the elevator. Root took it up to the eighth floor, only to be stopped by a large door just a matter of metres into the corridor.

“Not exactly a tactical position,” Shaw said.

There was nothing to hide behind. A plain corridor, a door at one end and the elevator the other: presumably that was the only way to and from this floor. Most places were more secure with only one entry way.

Root shrugged, walking over to and kneeling down by some reader or other affixed to the side of the door. Instead of carefully opening the mechanism, she opted to shoot it.

“I trust your abilities,” Root said, absently. “Human shield’s always an option, just throwing it out there.”

“Screw that,” Shaw said.

Root’s tampering with the system apparently set off an alarm. There was a sudden ringing, and the sound of the elevator departing. No doubt it’d return soon filled with security.

Shaw gripped the flat of the elevator door, doing what she could to force it open. Government facilities were often, ironically, less secure: there was never any need to make things safe for, say, children.

Once the door was opened she aimed carefully, and shot at the wire suspending the elevator. She paused, carefully aimed again, and fired a second time.

A few seconds later and the cable snapped. Pleased with herself, Shaw stepped back.

“They’ll be climbing down from the next floor up,” she said. “How long will that take?”

Root stared for a few seconds. Then, quickly, she turned her attention back to the wires, crossing a few, and plugging her tablet into it.

“Couple of minutes,” she said. “Didn’t like my human shield plan?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Pretty face it is,” Root said.

“I have a gun,” she said.

“Please, I’ve done worse to you,” Root said. “If you were going to shoot me, you would’ve done it then.”

Well, she did have a point.

Shaw stood by the wall, keeping her gun in hand. She waited for Root to finish, keeping an ear out for whatever security was doing.

No matter how well-trained you were, there was no way to sneak down an elevator shaft in perfect silence. She heard a muffled murmur, and a distance groaning as higher doors were forced open.

She saw a rope drop down to just in front of their open doors. She didn’t peer up: sticking her head into a shaft that was probably filled with heavily armed guards was never a smart decision.

So, give them maybe a minute to coordinate and abseil down… They were at a slight disadvantage because they’d all come into sight of Shaw, and she was much better poised to shoot first. Wouldn’t last forever though.

“Root,” she said, quietly urging.

“Ten seconds,” Root said.

A glimpse of a foot; Shaw fired, and heard a cry. She ducked as a gun was blindly stuck through the doorway and fired. The bullets skittered off the door and walls and floors, narrowly missing the two of them.

The door clicked open. Root hurried through, gesturing for Shaw; and the moment Shaw was through Root shot at the wires and mechanisms, jamming the panel.

The door shut behind them. It was likely meant to be impenetrable. Judging by the irate reactions of the guards who made it onto the floor seconds after, they certainly didn’t seem to have a way through.

Root waved.

It wasn’t too hard to find a filing cabinet labelled with Operation Septentrio. Shaw hurried down to it, Root pausing only to snap photos of a random assortment of files, and find a landline.

She sent the warning she’d mentioned before; if anyone broke in, or if they sensed any kind of attack, she’d publicize all manner of secrets. She hadn’t received a response, but neither was there a sign of a break-in.

Shaw opened the first drawer on the cabinet. It was filled with files, arranged by surname. She found S quickly: Shaw, Sameen, and pulled out her file.

“Found it?” Root said.

“Looks it,” she said. “You were right, then.”

“I know.”

She crouched, glancing in the bottom drawer. As she’d guessed, related materials were stored there: vial after vial of ink ranging from black to pale grey. There were only a couple of drops in each tube, but there were a lot of tubes.

Root’s eyes went wide. Awe, intrigue, curiosity… Whatever it was that had driven her to seek ink, the sight of so much seemed to have realized it.

Still, something drew her away.

“How many names are in there?” Root said.

“Why?”

“I want a record of them,” Root said. “I’ll leak them. That ought to be a bit of a pain.”

“I read, you write?” Shaw said.

“It’s a plan.”

And so Root sat on the floor, typing names into a document in her tablet. Shaw stood, flicking through the files in reverse-alphabetical order. She was near the end to start with, with S.

Shaw occasionally spared a glance for her own file. It was no more than a plain sheet of paper, without too much information. Her name, her parents, her birth stats, her new tattoo (with no mention of her old); and then in later hands, records of where she’d moved and who’d been assigned as her fake soulmate.

To see how clinically they’d planned all this out removed any potential for regret on her part.

“Hagel, Clark,” Shaw read. “Assigned to Maureen Shelton.”

“Got it,” Root said, tapping away on her tablet.

It was a simple enough idea; that ought to be enough for the individual in question to identify themselves. Burn down Operation Septentrio, just like that. Even if there were several Clark Hagels, only one would likely think a Maureen was their soulmate.

“Guzman, Sarah,” Shaw said. “Assigned to Terence Bailey.”

“Right.”

“Groves, Samantha, assigned to- Root?”

Root had stiffened at that name.

“Don’t worry about her,” Root said. “Who’s the next one?”

Shaw paused for a moment. It wasn’t surprise on Root's face. Maybe she was just unused to hearing the name. Someone she knew?

Shaw shrugged it off, and continued reading.


	49. Septentrio 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale time! Your regular oneshots will return tomorrow.

A few minutes after the list was done, they received their first communication from whatever authority oversaw the building they were in. Apparently it had taken a little time for someone with sufficient credentials to make decisions on such a matter to be found.

“Am I speaking to the two women who broke into our facility?” a woman’s voice came over the phone. Root had set it to speaker.

“Yep, loud and clear,” Root said. “Who is this?”

“The only name you need to know is Control,” she said.

Shaw scoffed.

“That meant to be intimidating?” Shaw said. “It’s really not.”

“I have jurisdiction over the building you’re currently in,” Control said. “If I ordered it, the air conditioning would be filled with gas. Only a handful of people would be permitted into that room to retrieve your bodies, so let us try to find an easier way.”

“Liar,” Root said. “You haven’t done that yet because you don’t want to. You’re afraid: and with good reason. I’ve taken snapshots of several projects in here, and set them up to be emailed to all manner of organizations, if I don’t cancel the email daily. And before you ask, several accounts have been set up to do just that, and no I’m not saying how many. So I’d recommend against doing that.”

A pause.

“Golden Chalice. Artic Plain. Broken Chain. Lot of interesting files I’ve got copied,” Root said. “Do I need to go on?”

“I recognize your voice,” Control said. “Miss Groves, isn’t it? We’ve been keeping track of you for a while.”

“Root,” she said.

“Root, then,” Control said. “You must know that doesn’t buy you complete immunity. So, talk. What is it you want?”

 _Groves_? Shaw remembered that name, she’d read it from a file not long before. She’d thought Root had reacted strangely.

“To be let out of here,” Root said. “And I’m keeping the drawer full of ink I’ve found.”

“Acceptable,” Control said. “To be rescinded if you speak about anything you’ve found.”

“Glad to hear it. Give us a few minutes to clear up, and remember, if you’re trying to trap us all these secrets get leaked.”

Root tapped the phone off, and kicked back in her chair. She seemed happy.

Well, of course she was. They’d gotten in and out almost perfectly. All things considered, a drawer full of ink wasn’t a major loss for the government; and as worried as they might be about information being leaked, doing away with Root or Shaw would only hasten that.

All things considered, it had gone well.

There was just one thing left. Shaw watched as Root got back onto her knees, and opened the bottom drawer to get access to all the vials of ink.

“You’re one of the Septentrios,” Shaw said.

Root paused for a moment, then glanced back. “Yep.”

“So, that’s why you did this?” Shaw said. “Revenge?”

“Hm?” Root said. “Well, kinda, I guess. Didn’t plan on it. Thought my wife was cheating, found out she was spying on me, and only found out the barest details about Operation Septentrio before… I was just after the ink. You’re the reason I had a lead to find this place.”

“It’s still about the damn ink,” Shaw said. She rolled her eyes, chest twinging at the memory. “ _What_ is so special about that stuff?”

“I told you,” Root said.

She stood, having emptied all the vials into one larger tube, and shaking it all together. It was markedly paler than the human-made ink on Shaw’s chest, but it was genuine.

Whatever it was that made soulmates, whatever special kind of ink it used, that was the real stuff.

“The universe doesn’t care,” Root said. “The only sign that there’s anything better than us, anything that might actually care about us, is here,” she shook the ink. “That’s what they took from me. I want to know what She would have said to me.”

Root had brought a few bits and pieces with her. Her gun, her tablet; the one thing Shaw hadn’t noticed was the battery powered tattoo gun. She poured the ink into it.

With very little modesty, Root tugged her top off, exposing the bare skin over her heart. There was no sign of scarring, but nonetheless she was blank. Whatever her Septentrio-assigned soulmate had said to her was lost.

“You know this stuff is special,” she said. Root pressed the needle to her skin, drawing across. “It’s barely natural, either: has a closer resemblance to printer ink than squid or octopus. That’s composition, but for all the studies and experiments done with it, they’ve struggled to find any special properties beyond the one.”

She drew straight horizontal line, then moved it back across in a diagonal gesture, and drew another line. Root moved with surprisingly little care.

“Like I told you,” Root said. “It always takes the shape of the tattoo. Speculation is that’s how they form: everyone’s conceived with a few drops in them, and while they gestate it moves and forms letters. Beyond that, whatever causes the tattoos ensured there’s no other means of abuse. The only part of the universe that cares, and this is all it does.”

There was still a fair amount of ink left in the tattoo gun when Root pulled it back, and put it to the side.

As the two of them watched, the ink in Root’s skin began to move. It swirled, and spread, and condensed. At first there was a faded blur, before lines became more distinct, and became letters.

 _Was this really necessary?_ It was scrawled in the ink, in a dark grey. After a few seconds, the ink stopped moving, and looking for all the world like an ordinary tattoo.

Root paused. When she straightened, however, her expression was unreadable. There was a genuine smile when she looked across to Shaw.

“And you?” Root said. “There’s enough extra. You can have yours back.”

“Why would I want to?” Shaw said.

“Romance?”

“No,” Shaw said.

“Curiosity then,” Root said. “Go on. Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not a child,” Shaw said, “You can’t just use reverse psychology to make me-”

“Are you telling me you’re not curious?” Root said. “You acted on your last one. Whether or not you want to admit it, I reckon you do wonder, really. What must a real soulmate be like?”

“Why are you insisting?”

A pause. When Root didn’t respond, Shaw slumped and sighed.

“Fine.”

Shaw expected an excited grin, yet instead Root approached with an odd kind of solemnity. Once Shaw exposed the still-somewhat-red skin over her heart, Root touched the needle to it.

As before, Root drew three horizontal lines joined by two diagonal, and watched as the ink rearranged itself to form the shape it was always meant to.

 _Not much left, before Septentrio_ \- It wasn’t much of a sentence; perhaps the speaker had been interrupted by something, or distracted. That wasn’t what intrigued Shaw, though.

It said Septentrio. Who would say that word? No, that wasn’t the question: who _had_ said those words? Something in her mind clicked, some familiarity beckoned to her.

She looked up at Root, slowly. And now Root was beaming.

“I’ll admit,” Root said, “I was kinda hoping.”

Then Root leaned closer, and let her lips brush Shaw’s. It went on for a long few seconds, neither shifting, nor moving from that one point of contact.

When Root pulled back, it was the first time Shaw had seen anything approaching uncertainty on her face.

Shaw rolled her eyes, leant closer, and kissed Root again much harder. If nothing else, at least she’d found a way to make Root shut up.

Root was slightly breathless when it ended, but the smile that had spread across her face was far from abating. She’d put away her tattoo gun, leaving her ready to walk away.

“Ready to leave, sweetie?” Root said.

“Have been for a while,” Shaw said. “You’re the one who wanted to stick around.”

“Worth it though.”

Shaw shrugged. Root didn’t seem particularly perturbed.

“Last question,” Root said.

They were walking towards the door. Just outside this room was a corridor, and just down that would be the door leading to the entryway to the eighth floor, and the way out.

They’d been promised safety. They ought to get that, at the very least: the threat of Root’s automated system leaking secret projects would see to that.

“What?” Shaw said.

“Fancy being a fugitive?” Root said. She tapped her bag, and the tablet within. “Can still leak the Operation Septentrio names, any time.”

It did have an appeal. Revenge, if nothing else. It’d be a nightmare for these people to have to be held accountable for the hundreds of people tricked.

Shaw had never cared much for her not-soulmate, but the manipulation had angered her. By the sound of it, the revelation had driven Root a long way. Hundreds of others, who’d hear the truth… To say nothing of the public outcry.

All for the low, low price of maybe needing to end up on the run. Well, Shaw was always open to that possibility since locking her not-soulmate in the boot of her car.

“Let’s do it,” Shaw said.

“Together?”

“We’re not doing the cheesy moment,” Shaw said.

“Spoilsport,” Root said. Still, she smiled. “You’ll stick around, though? I’ve had my share of being a fugitive, it’s much more fun with company.”

“Sure, Root,” Shaw rolled her eyes. “Sure.”


	50. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School-setting AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're back into regular ficlet land, so time for a lighter one.

Root sat in class, dimly aware of the teacher droning on. Good old math. She didn’t find it as tedious as some of the others in the class, but she did find it dull how this teacher taught it, particularly how slowly they went through.

The quadratic formula. She’d never understood why algorithms needed so many lessons to be taught. It was just plugging in the values, you could do that from sight.

She’d stopped paying attention a while ago. Idly she doodled, trying to see if she could prove the formula. It couldn’t be that hard, just complete the square to get _x_ on its own, fiddle around…

She quirked an eyebrows at the board, after a moment. So much for easy, apparently the teacher didn’t know which position _b_ was.

“Shouldn’t that be a two?”

The voice came from the back of class. As the teacher corrected their working, Root emphatically stared at her notebook.

After a few nervous seconds, she glanced back. There was a girl nodding, looking like she’d just spoken. Root did vaguely know the voice.

Sameen Shaw. She’d only shared a class with Root for a couple of days, now, since the start of term. And she’d just said the words that were tattooed on Root’s chest.

Sameen was odd, in a way. She was in that curious middle ground between popular, and too intimidating to be unpopular. Whereas Root was just plain disliked, but the feeling was typically mutual.

And soulmates. Huh.

At least Sameen was one of the few that actually called her Root. Apparently only the sufficiently popular were allowed universal nicknames.

Well, Root couldn’t talk now at least. Not in the middle of class. So confirmation would need to wait. She kept an idle eye on the board and the painfully slow workings, while continuing her own doodling.

She considered a few options. Maybe she could stay quiet, try to wait out the year; no need to involve herself in anything. Presumably she’d have to run into Shaw after, to say whatever was tattooed on her.

If she could manage that indefinitely, at least. Root wasn’t sure she could.

Admittedly she didn’t contribute much to class anyway. It just wasn’t worth it. Still, she didn’t feel like constantly keeping quiet.

She could always find Sameen after class. That’d be an easier way. Then again, Sameen did tend to be solitary, so possibly not that easy.

Root could always just answer a question, that’d be an easy way to confirm it to Sameen. Equally, Sameen might just choose to ignore her and never acknowledge it. That wouldn’t help.

So she needed a way to talk, that Sameen would listen to, and that she’d talk to Root after. For a few seconds, Root glanced back.

Summer was beginning, and a fair few students had water bottles on their desk. Shaw was one of them. Root bit back a smirk as a mildly cruel idea occurred to her.

Root waited. Occasionally she glanced back; the teacher might sharply say her name, and she’d silently nod and apologize, and a few seconds later be looking back again. Eventually she caught sight of Sameen drinking.

“Samantha!” the teacher said, harshly.

“Sorry, just sending a message,” Root said.

There was quite a spectacular sound from the back of the room as Sameen choked on her drink. Root bit back a smile, looking back again only to smirk.

The glare she got afterwards did very little to cause any regret. Well, if nothing else, that ensured Sameen would definitely want to talk to her after class. Or at least yell. Close enough.


	51. Gimme My Spaceship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an interesting idea I'm playing with.

“Think it’s true?” Root said.

“Not this again,” Shaw sighed. “I really don’t care.”

“You haven’t run for the hills,” Root said. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“So you’re just fishing for compliments?” Shaw said.

“Not just that,” Root said. “But it doesn’t hurt.”

They’d known each other for years. Sometimes Shaw did wonder why she didn’t just change her lock or run away or any number of things. It’d be easier than putting up with Root on a daily basis.

Then again, it wouldn’t be nearly so much fun.

“They said we’re soulmates,” Root said.

“I was what, two?” Shaw said. “I don’t remember it, and neither do you. So it never happened.”

“It might’ve,” Root said. “Just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“But it does mean it’s stupid to speculate,” Shaw said. “Besides, isn’t that meant to mean we’ll die young or something?”

“Urban legend.”

“What?”

“It’s an urban legend,” Root said, “If you meet your soulmate when you’re young, then you’ll die young too because there’s no other reason to meet them so soon, thing. Urban legend. It doesn’t work like that.”

Shaw paused.

“Think about it,” Root said. “If you live to be, say six, then you’d had to have met your soulmate. Everyone who dies young has less of a life in which to meet their soulmate, so more of them would have met theirs in, say, the last year of their life just by luck. Stands out more to hear, but not special. If you go by percentages, how many met their soulmate over the last ten percent of their life, it evens out.”

Another pause. Slowly, Shaw turned to face Root.

“You’ve researched this?” she said, flatly.

“I was worried,” Root said. “Weren’t you?”

“Not really,” Shaw said. “If I was going to be stuck with you forever, wouldn’t have minded dying soon.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

It was an odd thought, though. The tattoos were meant to make it so that people would always be able to identify, but they’d been too young to really remember when they’d spoken the words: if they even had.

Though Shaw would admit their tattoos did seem rather childish.

Even so, it meant she might as well not have a tattoo, if she’d never hear it spoken. If Root was really her… Somehow that did make it, well, nicer. Not that she’d tell Root that.

“Going to stop speculating at any point?” Shaw said.

“Never,” Root said.


	52. I Am 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to I Am, by request. Shaw is Root's bodyguard.

Her boss had only hired her because they were soulmates, and hadn’t bothered to tell Shaw. Shaw was fairly sure she could sue for that. She also wasn’t completely sure she wanted to.

At least her boss hadn’t behaved inappropriately. No, that wasn’t exactly right, she’d had to rethink her gauge on appropriateness since meeting Root, but there didn’t seem to be any expectation.

Even after telling Shaw, Root did little more than sit there and smile to herself, typing away. Still, Shaw couldn’t quite forget that it had happened.

It was almost amusing to drive with Root, though, leaving behind the crowd of people all shouting Root’s tattoo at her. Shaw did little more than quirk an eyebrow.

“Not jealous?” Root said.

“What?”

“Of them,” Root said. “They love me too, apparently. Doesn’t bother you?”

“Where’s this ‘too’ coming from?” Shaw said.

“You care, don’t you?” Root said. “Said in your contract you’d take a bullet for me. Sounds like love.”

“You pay me to.”

“Still,” Root said. She was beaming.

Shaw rolled her eyes, and they were driven on. There was no winning an argument with Root. It could be entertaining for a bit, but otherwise there was little point.

When they made it to her home, Shaw stood by her side as they walked to the doorway. She kept the ever-present crowd of fans at a distance, finding it much easier to ignore their words.

Eventually they were sat down. While Shaw was technically still on the clock, Root was happy for her to relax by the end of the day. There was other security in her home.

“Ok,” Shaw said, after a moment. She raised her voice to be heard over the distant thrum: “Why did you hire me?”

“Hm?”

“Did you just hire me because we’re soulmates?” Shaw said.

“It was a factor,” Root said, absently. At Shaw’s expression, she chuckled: “Relax. You were my first choice anyhow, from your resume, but saying the right words didn’t hurt. Just meant you’d care more.”

“Ok,” Shaw said.

After a few moments, she stood up.

“Just don’t expect anything,” Shaw said.

“I won’t.”

“Just because you’re paying me to protect you, doesn’t mean I’ll do anything else,” Shaw said. “Not going to do any more than keep you safe. Understood?”

“Absolutely.”

“I know there are all those stereotypes out there,” Shaw said, “It doesn’t matter. You’re paying me for one thing only, and even if you’re my soulmate it’s not going to make me do anything more.”

“Got it.”

“Good,” Shaw said.

After a few moments, she went back to her seat. It was good to get a chance to actually let it out, she reflected. It had been a slight worry for a while.

Hopefully that made things less complicated, then.

“Want to make out?” Root said.

Shaw blinked.

“What did I _just-_ ”

“It’s not required,” Root said. “Feel free to say no. Just putting the offer on the table.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Well, it was bearable if Root was just offering, with no strings attached. If nothing else it could make this job a lot more interesting.

She didn’t move for a few seconds. Root shrugged, and absently went back to typing. No insistence, then. That was encouraging.

Shaw stood up again. She moved towards Root; Root glanced back towards her hopefully. Shaw stopped halfway.

That noise was still a pain. All the fans who wanted to be Root’s soulmate, shouting those words over and over. Apparently they didn’t know the meaning of a lost cause.

“Would you mind if I shot a few of them?” Shaw said, gesturing to the window.

“Go ahead,” Root shrugged. “I’ve got more. And good lawyers.”

Shaw sighed, walked over to the window, and opened it. She braced herself, briefly, as the louder noise washed over her. It was very tempting to just fire. Maybe that’d scatter them.

“She’s taken!” Shaw shouted, as loudly as she could, out the window before slamming it shut. At least it quieted them.

Root was looking at her, amused.

“Thought you weren’t jealous?” Root said, smirking.

“I’m not,” Shaw said. “Just tired of the noise.”

“Sure.”

“You enjoy that racket?”

“You seemed to bear it before,” Root said. “Getting possessive?”

“Shut up.”


	53. Cinnamon Roll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone briefly mentioned the idea of soulmates needing time to end up more compatible, which pretty much immediately made me want to write something like this. Enjoy!

Samantha Groves first met Shaw in a queue. Sam had just gotten to the front, awaiting a snack.

“Cinnamon roll please,” she said, paying and taking the roll. As she turned to walk away, she caught sight of the woman behind her staring just slightly.

“Do I have something-” Sam instinctively lifted a hand, to brush at her face.

The woman regarded her for a long few seconds, then sighed.

“Just thought I recognized the words,” she said.

Sam grinned.

After a little more light chatter, Shaw, as she found out the woman’s name was, went home with her. It was cold, and Sam did prefer to talk inside, rather than bundled up in gloves and scarfs.

So, soulmate. It did come as a surprise, but a pleasant one. Sam had always liked the idea; Shaw seemed rather less than enthused, especially given Samantha’s sunny disposition.

Shaw looked around, after walking inside. Her expression became more and more incredulous as she took in the decoration. Meanwhile, Sam switched her shoes for slippers.

“Fuzzy slippers,” Shaw said, flatly.

“What’s wrong with fuzzy slippers?” Sam pouted.

“Just… not what I expected,” Shaw said.

A lava lamp sat on the bedside table. Shaw was distracted by the sight of it for a few seconds.

They sat, and talked for a little while longer. Shaw seemed to be rather private; no matter how much Samantha talked, she didn’t say too much about her own life.

Shaw spent the night. Sam probably would have even if they weren’t soulmates. Shaw did seem to have doubts about their compatibility, but on those grounds at least they were agreed.

Then Samantha woke up alone. Somehow she’d expected better from a soulmate. Then again, it might just be down to coincidence. Judging by a lot of Shaw’s reactions, it didn’t seem like they had much in common.

It did take her a couple of days, nonetheless. She’d admit to getting her hopes up. Soulmates were meant to be special.

* * *

It was two years before Shaw met Samantha Groves again. Of course, she wasn’t calling herself Samantha at the time.

It was accidental. Shaw hadn’t given too much thought to her almost-soulmate. Too many incompatibilities, too much sickly sweet. Leaving abruptly was kinder than sticking around. Doubt Samantha would’ve been as enthralled by a contract killer.

Shaw wandered down the dimly lit street, playing casual while keeping one hand on the hilt of her gun.

A fence had turned police informant, there were a few groups who wanted him dealt with. One such group had called in Shaw. Police protection not being what it ought to be, she got startlingly close to his house before she had to knock the guards out.

They had a key to the house, of course. They needed to be able to get inside, which in turn made it easy for Shaw to search them and enter.

Less than a minute later and she was standing with her gun raised. He was on his knees, hands raised, gibbering something about paying double or triple and mercy and-

A gunshot sounded. Shaw stiffened. That hadn’t been her.

“He was going on a bit, don’t you think?” a voice said. “Surprised you could stand to listen.”

Shaw turned on the spot. It took her a moment to recognize the hitwoman behind her. Dark hair, that kind of smile… When she did place the face, it took her a few seconds more to believe it.

“Sam-”

“Root,” she said. “Shaw, right? I remember you.”

Root was still holding the gun high. Shaw had a sudden sinking feeling, remembering just how she’d left Root before.

“So,” Shaw said, slowly. “You’ve changed.”

“Yep,” Root said, somehow giving the exact same smile Shaw had found painfully dorky before. “And you, guessing this is why you didn’t talk much about yourself?”

Shaw shrugged, and tried to avoid looking at the gun still pointing in her general direction.

Then Root chuckled, and holstered her gun.

“Admit it, you were scared for a moment then,” Root said. “I mean, I was a little tempted, but still.”

It took Shaw a few seconds to work out what to say. By that time, Root spoke up:

“So, guessing we’ve got more in common this time around, huh?”

“It… looks it,” Shaw said. It was rather hard to reconcile the woman she’d met years ago with Root. “What happened?”

“Branched out,” Root said. She shrugged. “Programming to hacking, hacking to, well, did used to hire people to do this bit but it’s easier to cut out the middleman. You?”

“I’m good at it,” Shaw said.

“Looks it,” Root said. She beamed. “So, what do you say, want to give it another go?”

“Maybe,” Shaw said, after a moment. “Just tell me you got rid of those god-awful slippers.”

“Of course not,” Root looked affronted. “What have you got against bunnies?”


	54. True Love 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested sequel to True Love.

_Accessing surveillance feeds: Central Park._

“I am Root, and I am your true love.”

 _Accessing surveillance feeds, hospital_.

Root sat with a pack of ice against her nose, wincing slightly. Shaw was sitting nearby, her expression anything but apologetic.

“I have been waiting years to do that,” Shaw said.

“Not an Asimov fan, then?” Root said.

“Quoting someone is not an excuse for being that cheesy.”

“Thought it was fitting,” Root said.

“I hadn’t even spoken to you,” Shaw said. “Do you just say that to anyone you meet?”

“Nope.”

“So you guessed.”

“Not really,” Root said. “Not read the story, I take it? Thought you’d be more curious about who your soulmate’s quoting.”

“Not if they’re quoting something that stupid,” Shaw said.

“Don’t insult Asimov!”

“How are you _still_ this unbearable?” Shaw said. “Haven’t you learned?”

“What are you going to do, break my other nose?”

_Probability of analog interface incurring serious injury rising. Calculating escape routes._

Shaw rolled her eyes, slumping back in her chair. She rested her head on her hand, watching Root.

“You’ve got a good punch,” Root said, conversationally. Her speech was only slightly distorted.

Shaw said nothing.

“And you came with me,” Root said. “Wanted to stick with your soulmate, huh?”

_Warning analog interface, risk of injury reaching dangerous levels._

Root smiled at something Shaw couldn’t hear, tilting her head back.

“Used to be a doctor,” Shaw said. “Call it loyalty, I wasn’t going to subject them to you unless there was a way to make you shut up.”

“You think you can shut me up?”

“Seemed to work pretty well,” Shaw said. She glanced at her hand. “Ought to get my knuckles checked out while I’m here.”

“Sorry if my nose hurt them,” Root said, “Your fingers are important to me.”

It took a few seconds for Shaw to puzzle that one out. Then she slumped further.

 _Analysing. Probability of analog interface incurring serious injury: 86%. Subsequent probability of analog interface enjoying it: 98%_.

_Recalculating danger level._


	55. Not Going to Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of role reversal.   
> Last semi-experimental idea for a bit, we get back to regular sort-of plotty ones tomorrow.

Shaw always thought she’d be trying to convince her soulmate to leave her alone. She was disappointed how easy it was, in the end.

It had been on the subway. Shaw was sitting back, just waiting as the train carried on. It stopped, picked up a few more people, and went on.

“Mind if I have your seat?”

“Not going to happen,” Shaw said, without looking up. She’d had an exhausting enough day.

It took a few seconds for her mind to wake up, though, and recognize those words. A few more seconds, still, for her to look up, and to see a woman staring at her as though she’d just been cursed out.

Shaw groaned, and shifted half-off the seat. The woman squeezed in beside her. Not the most comfortable of positions, but better than standing.

“Guess we should talk,” Shaw said, reluctantly.

“No need,” the woman said. “You don’t seem happy about it, so it’s fine, don’t bother.”

Well that was… easy.

“Shaw,” she said, after a moment.

“Root,” the woman said. “Don’t tell me you actually want to know me.”

“Just curious,” Shaw said. “Don’t want a soulmate, but I’ll give you a chance.”

“Why?” Root said.

“What?”

“They’re just words,” Root said. “There’s no label, no explanation, just a few words tattooed on your skin. Why would they mean soulmate?”

“Aren’t they meant to?”

“Sure, they’re meant to,” Root said. “Doesn’t make it true. When have you known the universe to be so helpful, though?”

“With the tattoos?” Shaw said. “If you can call it helpful.”

“Really?” Root said. “The universe is infinite, and chaotic, and cold. There’s no plan in anything. Nothing, except a few curls of ink. Does that make sense to you?”

“But-” Shaw began, and caught herself.

How had she started defending soulmates? If she was honest, yes, she thought they probably existed. She’d seen too much in favour of that.

She just didn’t want one. Simple, really. As far as that went, she was probably in agreement with Root, even if for different reasons.

“It doesn’t care,” Root said.

“Probably not,” Shaw said, absently.

“You agree?” Root said, after a moment.

“Apparently,” Shaw said. “I’ll admit, I was expecting more of a debate when I met mine. Though it’s kinda weird you don’t believe in soulmates, doesn’t everyone?”

“Why?” Root said. After a moment, her expression became playful. “Disappointed? Sorry, I don’t think you’re quite that special.”

“Think I preferred it when you were being moody.”

“I’m not moody,” Root said. “Just realistic.”

“Sounds like moody,” Shaw said.


	56. Hands Where I Can See Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another historical-set AU! This one’s set in late WW2. I’m just going to make the two of them british. No one noticed when I pretty much made then European in the last historical, so I reckon I can get away with it.

Shaw would admit to being surprised by how the operative codenamed Root looked. From Bletchley Park apparently, but she didn’t have the typical look of one of the brainiacs.

Quite what she was doing near the front lines was beyond Shaw. Wasn’t the safest place for people whose biggest contribution to the war effort seemed to be scribbling on a blackboard.

“Apparently I’m meant to give a speech,” Root said, to everyone. “Only found that out half an hour ago, so this is going to be a bit rushed. England’s coping. You might not have seen home for a while, so I should tell you it’s enduring. And with a little luck, if what I’m here to do goes well, you should see home that much sooner.”

It wasn’t much more than generic platitudes. Whenever they got a visitor from home, they were expected to do a little talking. Everyone hasn’t forgotten you exist, there is actually a point to this we swear…

Root’s speech wasn’t special as far as that went. Her first words, though, were.

There was a ritual among soldiers: they looked at their tattoos. If your soulmate was meant to say that to you, then you couldn’t die until you met them. Just looking at the words was a reminder. _You will not fall today_.

It didn’t promise immortality, though. The most confident soldier might run into a civilian, or a new transfer, or might just have forgotten hearing the words. Seconds later… A lot of the others thought it cruel, how meeting your soulmate was a promise of death.

Regardless, it meant everyone so close to the front knew the words on their chest. It was hard to forget something you read daily.

Shaw’s reaction was more pragmatic: well, that meant she was at real risk now.

Later, she figured she’d take the chance. See Root, speak to her: if Shaw could die now, she might as well spend a couple of minutes with whoever the universe had picked out for her.

It was getting late, and dark. Shaw left the crude set-up for soldiers, so the sleeping bag left for visitors from home. As she neared, she caught sight of Root stirring, and standing up.

She was walking? Where was she walking to? The only place nearby was the German lines.

With a sinking feeling, Shaw slowly realized that was exactly where Root was heading. Thoughts of introduction leaving her mind, Shaw slowly slinked on, taking cover behind trees and equipment.

It would be just her luck if her soulmate was a spy. Shaw watched closely, and carefully.

Her hand went to her gun the moment she saw a German uniform. She was too far away to make out the words, and unwilling to start shooting in case the soldier wasn’t alone.

Still, Shaw did what she could to near. She kept behind trees, getting closer while staying unseen. Even if it wasn’t safe to attack, she could at least apprehend Root on the way back.

Some soulmate.

“Danke schön,” the German said, before turning away. Root didn’t seem particularly worried about him.

Shaw had picked up a little German: that meant ‘thank you.’ Which confirmed it, she was helping them. It was very rare night time meetings and sneaking away meant anything good.

Root began to move back to the encampment. She’d barely made it past the first row of trees before Shaw had a gun pressed to the small of her back.

“Hands where I can see them,” Shaw said. “Don’t make a sound.”

Slowly, Root lifted her hands. She seemed slightly shaken; maybe she didn’t want to get caught, maybe she recognized the words. Shaw wasn’t particularly bothered.

“English, right?” Root said.

“I said to not talk.”

“Thought I’d speed this up,” Root said. She took a step forwards. “I’m going to turn around now. Face-to-face, easier for conversation.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Root slowly turned on the spot, taking care to make no sudden moves, and not surprise Shaw.

“I think there is,” Root said. “Otherwise you’d have shot me already. At the very least, I think you want to know what I just told that guy. That way you know whether or not to think the worst.”

Shaw paused.

“Ok then,” Shaw said. She nudged Root’s chest with the tip of her gun; “What did you tell him?”

“That there’ll be an attack at about 8am tomorrow, local time, near Orsha,” Root said.

Shaw pressed her finger a little tighter around the trigger.

“Come on,” Root said, “If you can’t trust your soulmate, who can you trust?”

“Right now, anyone but you,” Shaw said.

“Not looking good, is it?” Root said.

“You just admitted to giving plans to the enemy,” Shaw said. “There’s no way you can make this look good.”

“Would it help if I was ordered to do it?”

“Why would you be ordered to spill secrets?”

“Acceptable losses,” Root said. “They can cancel the attack when it becomes clear the Germans are prepared.”

“So you’ve only killed a few soldiers,” Shaw said. “That makes it all better.”

“It does if it saves more.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows. Root hesitated for a moment.

“Did you come alone?” Root said.

“Like I’d tell you that.”

“So, yes,” Root said. “Good. What I’m about to tell you is classified. I’m only telling you for two reasons: one, it’d do a lot of harm if you shoot me.”

“And two?”

“If you can’t trust your soulmate, who can you trust?” Root tilted her head, echoing herself.

Shaw shifted her grip on the gun, keeping it pointed at Root.

“Do you know what Bletchley Park does?” Root said. “I’d hope not, it’s classified. You should know we can intercept German communications though, not that it does us any good. They’re all in code.”

“Waiting for anything relevant.”

“We cracked the code,” Root said. “There’s just one problem. It changes constantly. They’ve got what we call Enigma machines, and once you change the initial setting, the resulting code is completely different. We can break the code, but only if we know how it’s set up.”

“Still waiting.”

“What do you think that soldier’s going to do?” Root said.

“Warn his side of the attack,” Shaw said.

“How?”

Shaw paused. Well, by sending a message of course: a coded message, everything had to be in code. They didn’t want her side knowing that they knew about the attack.

Which meant the communication could be intercepted, the translated message more or less known, and so the code figured out. There could only be so many settings where the right letters were switched.

“Got it?” Root said. “You can stop threatening to shoot me now.”

“If I believe you.”

“If you can’t trust your-”

“Say that one more time and I’ll shoot you no matter what side you’re on,” Shaw said.

Root grinned. Shaw rolled her eyes. She jabbed Root with her gun again.

“Get moving,” Shaw said. “Back to camp.”

“You can call my team in the morning,” Root said. “That’s if you want proof. Otherwise, you’ll have to keep watching me.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“I’m counting on it,” Root beamed. “Say, where’s your shower?”

Shaw thrust her gun again. Root chuckled.

“Fine,” she said. “Watching me sleep, then. You can join me in the bag if you want to be extra-careful, I’ve heard good things about soldiers, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint your soul-”

“Just move,” Shaw said.


	57. Come Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw's in the ISA, and doesn't have time for a soulmate, but Root can be very persuasive.

Shaw had run into her soulmate on the subway. It hadn’t been much; she’d been sidling past a few people, murmuring a few things, when one of them had evidently heard something she’d recognize.

“Hey, you should come visit,” a hand on her arm. “Wondered who you’d be.”

Shaw had gotten off at the next stop, waiting just long enough so she could slip out the train just as the doors were closing. She left the woman behind.

She hadn’t looked back. The little she’d managed to glean about her apparent-soulmate was that she would give a coy grin at just about anything. It was somewhat maddening.

Either the woman was very lucky, or Shaw was very unlucky, but they bumped into each other a few times after that. Shaw managed to escape each time.

She didn’t want a soulmate. Ok, Root was cute, but there were priorities. Besides, her life choices didn’t leave much room for a soulmate.

The ISA used up most of her time, as it was. Thankfully she hadn’t yet met the woman on a mission.

Or maybe it was disappointing. Maybe if she saw Shaw killing a few people, that’d dissuade her.

Grimly satisfied at the thought, Shaw slipped out of the van. Today’s target had stolen confidential information; it was a simple search and retrieve. For now, they were too high-profile a target to be taken out, but that wouldn’t last.

Cole’s voice in her ear, monitoring the feeds, gave her the only edge she needed. Still, he went silent as she approached the front door.

Unusual, but not unheard of. That was the problem with running support out of a van, if anyone got too close he’d have to fall silent, unless it was important.

“Hey sweetie,” and then there was a markedly different voice in Shaw’s ear. “Sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming, but I wanted to say hi.”

“You.”

“Call me Root,” the woman said.

“What happened to Cole?”

“Is that his name?” Root said. “Oh, he’s unconscious and tied up in the back of that van of yours. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine tomorrow, just have a bit of a headache.”

Shaw paused. She ought to prioritize; this mission was important, but so were the lives of ISA agents. If someone had been able to find them, they were a far more major security risk-

“Don’t worry about that little mission of yours,” Root said. “I took care of it.”

“You… what?”

“I stole the drives,” Root said. “Figured that would make this easier.”

Shaw shifted to a quieter spot. There was no point in breaking in if that was true; and she could see signs of worry. Maybe the local guards had noticed.

“What do you want, Root?” Shaw said, low.

“I want you to do exactly as I say,” Root said. There was something light in her tone; “Did ask you to visit, you know. If you want the drives, you’re going to have to.”

Oh, great, so now her soulmate was holding vital data to ransom.

“If you’ve hurt Cole-”

“Relax,” Root said. “This is between you and me. So, are you going to obey?”

“I’m listening.”

Shaw left the property nimbly, leaving no sign she’d been there. This might be a mess to report, but there didn’t seem to be another option.

Root wasn’t at the van; Shaw stopped by there briefly to check on Cole, despite what the voice in her ear said. He still had a pulse. Otherwise, there was no sign anyone else had been there.

Presumably Root had hacked into their communication frequency somehow. Slightly impressive, definitely more so than Shaw had thought of her soulmate at first glance.

She followed the voice’s instructions. Down the street, across another, through an alley, past one more block, and into a hotel… She took the lift up to the sixth floor.

“Doing well so far,” Root said, happily. “Now, just behind the vase on your right is a blindfold. Got it?”

There were decorations up and down the hotel’s hallway. Shaw peered behind the nearest; sure enough, there was a scrap of black.

“Put it on,” Root said.

“New to this kidnapping thing, huh?” Shaw said. “You’re meant to ask them to put the blindfold on before you take them to wherever you want to go. As it is, I know exactly where you are.”

“I’ve thought this through,” Root said. “Put it on.”

After a few moments, Shaw sighed and did so. She wasn’t restrained, at least; and she had good instincts. If it felt like things were getting dangerous, she could take it off.

There was a distant click in the distance; the sound of a door. After a few moment more, Shaw felt a hand on her wrist. No need to talk through the earpiece now, then.

“Root,” Shaw said.

“Hey,” a very nearby voice said. “Come on, not that much further.”

For a moment, Shaw considered lashing out. So nearby, it wouldn’t matter if Root was armed. She could neutralize her, and search all the rooms on this floor for the stolen data.

Well, that was if the data was stored on this floor. Shaw would give it a little time.

They moved on, and turned. Soon Shaw heard a door close behind her. Root guided her on a little way, and moved her to sit down on what felt like a bed.

“Going to explain what you want, yet?” Shaw said.

“You.”

There was a pause.

“What?” Shaw said.

“Soulmates, right?” Root said. “I had to get your attention somehow. This worked.”

There was a much longer pause as Shaw considered. The soulmate, the hotel room, the privacy, the freed up schedule…

“This is a _booty call_?” Shaw said, eventually.

“Something wrong with that?”

“The blindfold?”

“Tell me you’re not that vanilla,” Root said.

One of these days, Shaw really ought to sit down and have a long, long talk with her libido. She was reasonably certain that knocking out her partner, hijacking a government operation, and near hostage-taking should not make someone hotter.

Kinda did.


	58. Watch Where You're Walking 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel!

Root was moderately less irritating than Shaw had been lead to believe. Ok, there were the endless innuendoes, the flirting… But she did at least listen to Shaw’s ground rules.

Shaw found she could still navigate the house even after Root had lived there for a few days, and she always received advance warning of anything big Root brought in.

They didn’t share rooms just yet. Shaw had let one of her storage spaces be repurposed; it gave Root a place to actually make up as her own. That much, at least, Shaw wanted to give her. Sharing a room made it trickier, however; she’d need to memorize a whole new layout if they did.

As it was, Shaw generally stuck to her own bed. Root was a rather frequent visitor, even if Shaw kicked her out before she went to sleep.

They’d tried to wake up together, but Shaw had nearly concussed her when using her arm to sit up in the morning. Sooner or later they might try it again, but they were happy with their current arrangement.

“You never come to my room,” Root said. “Should I be hurt?”

“You’re in mine often enough.”

“You complain when I steal Bear,” Root said, “Where else should I go?”

“You could let me look after my guide dog.”

“But he likes me,” Root said.

There was a rather well-timed bark. Shaw was fairly sure Root had to be smuggling around treats or something, he always ran up to her first.

Shaw coughed. At least Bear was trained enough to recognize what that meant; she felt him hurry to her side.

“What’s the matter?” Root said. There was an ever-playful edge to her voice; “Jealous?”

“Just not happy with you stealing my dog.”

Root whistled, and Shaw felt Bear hurry away.

Shaw sat down, slightly irate. Root had been there a few weeks and she’d already befriended Bear. Maybe she should trust his judgement, or maybe she should just be annoyed with Root. The latter didn’t seem to be particularly effective admittedly.

“We should get him more toys,” Root said. “You don’t play with him nearly enough.”

“You know he’s not a pet, right?”

“Still, you should bond,” Root said. “I hear you’re meant to do that.”

A rustle of fur; Bear barked in agreement.

“Have fun with that,” Shaw said.

She wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days she woke up to find Root had stolen him.

“You _are_ jealous,” Root said suddenly. “It’s ok sweetie, I love you too.”

“What?”

“Do you want to be fussed over as well? I can do that,” as Root spoke, Shaw could hear her getting closer.

A matter of seconds later, she distinctly felt Root stroking her hair, cooing. Shaw batted her arms away, ignoring Root’s delighted peal of laughter.

“Stop that.”

“You were the one who was jealous,” Root said.

“I wasn’t,” Shaw said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Shaw said, flatly. “He’s just my dog.”

“Well you don’t play with him enough.”

“I’ve had him longer, I know how to look after him.”

“Sure about that?” Root said. “He likes it when I stroke him.”

“He likes me more.”

“Told you you were jealous,” Root said.

She leant across, offering a quick peck to Shaw’s cheek; Shaw flailed her hand through the air, trying and failing to grab Root. Once again, Root was laughing.


	59. Is That a Gun in Your Pocket?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested a certain line, so here it is!

“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Shaw turned around, looking at the happily grinning woman behind her. She stared for a long few seconds.

“Ok,” Shaw said. “One: it’s a gun. Don’t make me use it. Two-”

The woman was already wearing a delighted grin. Shaw ignored it; she’d spent years with that phrase tattooed on her chest, and she had a lot to say to whichever idiot thought to say it first.

“Two, don’t keep a gun in your pocket, that’s going to end badly, holsters were invented for a reason,” Shaw said. “Three, what exactly do you imagine I’ve got that you’d notice me being ‘happy to see you?’ Four, no, I’m not happy to see you either. Five-”

“Could get you something,” the woman said.

The woman blinked obviously. Shaw hesitated.

“What?”

“Could get you something so that there’d be something to mistake for a gun,” she said. “There are a few toys like that. I wouldn’t complain, that’s all I’m saying.”

Another rather obvious blink. Shaw shook it off.

She’d met her soulmate for less than a minute and already there had been two particularly blatant innuendoes. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

“ _Five_ ,” Shaw said, “I’ve got an Axis-II personality disorder, I’m not going to care for you so you’re out of luck. Six, do you see how stupid that line was yet?”

“No harm in trying,” the woman said.

Shaw stared at her for a long few seconds. The woman beamed, and offered her hand.

“Root,” she said.

“Shaw.”

“Nice to meet you, Shaw,” Root said. “So was that a yes or no on the toy?”

Did she really have to ask that? Shaw was just about to deliver another scathing reply when the woman made another obvious blink. Why did she feel the need to emphasize her blinking?

Shaw paused.

“Wait a second,” Shaw said, “Are you trying to wink?”

Root hesitated.

“Wasn’t I?” Root said.

“You were blinking,” Shaw said. “Winking’s one eye, not two.”

“Close enough.”

“Not really.”

Shaw turned away, slightly despairing. Root hurried up to her side; apparently this first meeting wasn’t going quite the way she’d expected. Well, Shaw could say the same.

“You still haven’t answered,” Root said.

“What?”

“Yes or no?” Root said. “Do you want the-”

“You can shut up about that,” Shaw said. “I don’t care if you’re meant to be my soulmate, you’re annoying, you’re way past suggestive, you’re idiotic, and you can’t even wink. So, no.”

“Oh,” Root said.

She stayed walking besides Shaw. Shaw did her utmost not to smile; there was something endearing about her hurt-puppy expression, not that Shaw would tell her that.

“No chance, then?” Root said.

“When the world ends, maybe,” Shaw said. “If we were the last two people on Earth, and I had a stroke of insanity, then maybe then.”

“So, maybe someday?” Root said.

Shaw glanced back. Root was beaming; Shaw exhaled heavily.

“Fine,” Shaw said, weary. “Maybe someday.”

“Good to hear,” Root said. “And maybe someday you can teach me to wink properly.”


	60. Who to Avoid 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel! This one follows from the first historical ficlet.

Shaw was a good student. It was a pain, really, especially given Root didn’t see herself as a particularly good teacher.

She wanted more time to consider. As much as she’d seen of soulmates, she didn’t really know what to think of having one herself. Once Shaw could read the right words, though, the situation would be forced.

Root ended the lesson early when Shaw had a grasp of the alphabet. Shaw might occasionally complain, but she had a good work ethic; she practised the letters when she got home, coming back with near-perfect knowledge.

Which took them onto spelling. Shaw could already speak, so she was close to having a grasp of all phonetic words.

Still, _You want to know too_ wasn’t the easiest phrase to read. While most words had a variety of spellings, most people writing them down as they sounded, there were odd intricacies to the tattoo. ‘Know’ and ‘you’ might take a little explaining.

So, Root figured, she likely had a few days to figure things out.

“It doesn’t say what you said it does,” was the first thing Shaw said when she came into their next lesson.

“What doesn’t?” Root said, already with a sinking feeling.

“My tattoo,” Shaw said. “I can’t read all of it, but I can tell what it doesn’t say.”

Well, that’s what she got for underestimating her soulmate. Root paused. Now or never, then. Root glanced at her fire, briefly unsure.

She’d never gotten used to how firelight made people look. Unlike the Sun, it flickered. Shadows were made, and made to fade, seconds after one another. A pleasing radiance, bathing every contour on Shaw’s less-than-happy face.

“You’re right,” Root said.

Shaw paused, surprised it had been that easy.

“And?”

“And what?” Root said. She offered a beaming smile. “Consider it a test. You know the letters, how would you say it?”

Sometimes a little motivation helped. Shaw could be competitive: though she might struggle to read her own tattoo, with her evident disregard for a soulmate, if she was doing it as a challenge…

“Why not just tell me?”

“You should read it,” Root said.

Shaw glared for a few seconds. Then, she sighed, and sat down, shifting just enough to look down at her shoulder.

Root leaned closer, touching her hand to Shaw’s chest. She’d taught reading like this, using her hand to hide most of the word and letting Shaw read it a letter at a time.

It was a different experience, with skin on skin.

“Y-yo-yow? W-a-n-t to kuh-n-o-w too,” Shaw said, slowly. She frowned. “Yow want to kuhno too?” She paused, sorting it over in her head. “You want to know too.”

“Exactly,” Root said.

“And why couldn’t you just tell me that?”

Because, at the time, those words would have been fresh in Shaw’s mind.

Root paused. Her hand lingered on Shaw for a few moments more, before she moved back. She looked at her student for a short time.

“Have you liked this?” Root said. “Learning to read? With me?”

“Sometimes,” Shaw said.

“Only sometimes?”

“You can be a bit of a pain,” Shaw said. After a moment though, she chuckled. “But sure, Root. It’s been fun.”

Root let out a long, relieved sigh. Then she tugged her own collar down, revealing her heart and the tattoo over it.

For a moment, Shaw frowned. Then, she leaned closer, touching her hand to it and slowly dragging her fingertips across. She paid little attention to the goosebumps that arose, taking a long time to go over each letter.

She shaped each sound with her mouth, going back and forth over the longer phrase.

“I said that,” Shaw said, after a moment.

“You did.”

“And you knew?”

“Kinda my job.”

There was a pause. Then Root was toppling backwards off her improvised log, Shaw’s fist striking the underside of her chin.

Root hastily straightened, sitting back up. Thankfully, Shaw was still sitting just opposite, even if her expression seemed somewhat annoyed.

“You didn’t tell me?” Shaw said.

“You said you’d have avoided your soulmate,” Root said.

Shaw stared at her for a moment, and almost immediately after she started laughing.

“So you taught me to read because you wanted me to stick around?” Shaw said. “That’s kinda desperate.”

“Wanted to get to know my soulmate,” Root said.

“Still lame.”

“Romantic?”

“Lame.”


	61. Watch It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a comment. Bar fight time!

Shaw loved bars. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She liked the right bars; not everything that called itself a bar necessarily deserved the mantle, in her mind.

Bar implied a certain amount of seediness. Very little respectability, no refined aesthetic, just a place to drink and blow off steam in whatever way appealed to her at that time. Booze, an alleyway just outside no one asked questions about, and a chance of violence.

If there was food, it was the kind no one bothered eating. All the better to enjoy the alcohol.

It was about atmosphere as much as the drink. Sure, maybe she didn’t look like the typical customer, but it only took a handful of broken fingers for people to stop trying that cliché introduction. Lightweights.

She didn’t like the pervs, but she did like the excuse to start hitting people.

This bar in particular she liked. In most people had learnt to give her a wide berth, which was a pain. In this one they kind of did, but it was also frequented by the sorts of people who were violent drunks. Once they stopped thinking rationally, it got more fun.

She gulped down her drink, and right on schedule there was the sound of a punch being thrown. Shaw smiled, kicked back off her stool, and went to join in.

Those brawls were utter chaos. A few attempted words, whether threats or pleas for mercy, invariably interrupted. Hands and feet and occasionally heads from all angles, alcohol suppressing any sense of strategy and skill.

Shaw wasn’t entirely sure who’d started it, but bar fights always spread quickly. Soon most of the room was filled with participants, while the few that wanted no part of it were hurrying out still cradling their drinks.

It was about half an hour before the last of the fighting died down, and a weary and satisfied Shaw went back to the bar, ordering another drink to throw down.

“You’re pretty good,” a woman sat herself down beside her, gesturing for a drink herself.

Shaw glanced sideways, taking in the smile, and what looked like the beginnings of a rather impressive black eye.

“Do I know you?” Shaw said.

“I know your fist,” the woman said, tapping her eye. “Think you know mine too, sorry, was aiming for the guy behind you.”

“Wasn’t paying attention,” Shaw shrugged. “Don’t really have chats afterwards either.”

“Pity,” the woman said. “So, know where a girl can get stitches around here?”

Shaw regarded her for a few moments, then sighed. She downed the rest of her drink.

“My place isn’t that far,” Shaw said.

“Offering to take me home?” the woman said. She beamed, “Usually have to do more hinting before people do that.”

“I’m a doctor,” Shaw said. “I can stitch you up.”

“Oh,” her face fell. “Is that all?”

“Depends.”

The woman’s face lit up. She finished the rest of her drink just a bit too eagerly, before hopping to her feet.

“Root,” she said.

“What kind of a name is Root?”

“A good one,” Root said.

Shaw sighed. “Shaw.”

Not long later, and they’d made it to Shaw’s apartment. It wasn’t a particularly long walk; Shaw wouldn’t have moved in if there wasn’t a good bar nearby.

She found her first aid kit. Her hands weren’t at their most dexterous from all the drinking, and technically she shouldn’t do anything that required much skill, but that didn’t really bother her. She could manage passable stitches in her sleep, with how much practise she’d had.

When she went back into the other room, Root had taken her top off. Shaw paused for a few seconds.

“That first, then?” Shaw said. “Probably good, not meant to do anything strenuous after getting stitches.”

“Nah, just think I felt a cut on my back,” Root said. “Doesn’t matter if they break, you can always play doctor with me again.”

“You really want to annoy the woman who’s going to be poking a needle into you?”

“Oh, definitely,” Root said.

Kinky. Great. Shaw paused; well, that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. She approached, kneeling by Root, and noting the cut that had opened up just over her shoulder blades. There was one, but it was far from needing stitches.

Shaw shifted focus to the front, where there was one that needed stitches.

She started work just under the _Watch it, I’ll_ , the dark ink over her hand. Shaw raised her eyebrows a little at that.

“They’re not that impressive,” Root said, at Shaw’s expression, “But thanks.”

“What-” Shaw glanced up, to see Root’s grin. She poked the needle in just a bit too hard, then, and the grin only widened. “I was looking at your tattoo.”

“Sure you were,” Root said.

Shaw sighed, getting back to stitching.

“Interesting though, huh?” Root said. “My guess is that they’ll get interrupted, or something.”

“Not met them?”

“Nope,” Root said. “How about you?”

“’You little,’” Shaw quoted. “Like yours, incomplete.”

It wasn’t the most enthralling topic of conversation, but she’d learnt to keep someone distracted when stitching them up. A little back-and-forth helped.

Root stiffened, slightly. The needle went slightly awry.

“What is it?” Shaw said.

“Nothing,” Root said. “Just thinking, kind of thing that’d happen in a bar fight, isn’t it? Hard to get a full sentence out.”

“Sure,” Shaw said, absently. “Lot of places that it could happen.”

“You ever listen to what people say?”

“Not in a fight,” Shaw said. “Other things to focus on.”

“Yeah,” Root said. She paused. “You know, I was going to call someone a little- well, something, earlier.”

The needle slipped again.

“How about you?” Root said, perfectly casually. “Tell anyone to watch it?”

Shaw stared at the wound intently. Not too much left to stitch up.

“That a yes?” Root said.

Shaw emphatically said nothing.


	62. What Do You Say? 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel by request.   
> Root and Shaw just sleep together. Stop saying it's romantic. It's not. They swear.

Root was making waffles. Shaw woke up to the smell, blinking blearily for a few moments. Recognizing it, Shaw sat up, looking around the bedroom floor for a loose shirt, and pulling it on. She wasn’t sure if it was hers or Root’s.

Shaw wandered out to the kitchen, to see Root with an electric whisk, glass bowl, and a waffle maker working away. Root glanced back at the sound of the door opening.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Root said.

“Do you really need to be so…”

“So?” Root echoed. “Hot? Sexy? Talented? Am-”

“ _Domestic_ ,” Shaw said.

“You don’t want waffles?” Root pouted.

“Never mind.”

Neither one of them was looking for more than brief satisfaction from this arrangement. The nights certainly achieved that. Shaw could still feel the scratches.

She pulled up a chair, waiting. Root was marginally better at baking than Shaw, though no expert herself. Still, she’d taught herself waffles. Root always seemed to be able to learn a recipe easily, there just weren’t many she dedicated the time to.

“If you want bacon, make it yourself,” Root said. “Otherwise berries are-”

“I know where everything is,” Shaw said. “It’s _my_ kitchen.”

“Do you use it?”

“I use the microwave,” Shaw said. “And I can warm a pizza.”

“I know, you’re good at heating things up,” Root looked back.

She flashed a grin, not quite looking as she opened the waffle maker and pulled her breakfast out. She turned back to pour a little more of her mix in, dividing what had already come out into two.

“Remind me why I let you stay over,” Shaw said, groaning.

“Because by the time you’re done I can’t walk to leave the room, let alone get home,” Root said. “You seem rather insistent on that.”

Root handed half the waffle to Shaw. Shaw just poured syrup over it; if nothing else it was a good, quick energy boost.

Root was wearing her jacket from the night before, barely zipped up, and little else. Shaw was never sure if Root did that on purpose, or if she just went for whatever was comfortable; not that Shaw minded, it was a good eyeful to start the day. Besides, knowing Root, it was definitely meant to tease.

Coffee had already been made. Root seemed to wait for Shaw to take a sip before speaking.

“Can I have a drawer?” Root said.

Shaw narrowly avoided a spectacular spit-take.

“Root,” Shaw said. “You know what this is, you said you were happy with it. No commitment, no feelings, just-”

“I know,” Root said. “Am happy with that. It’s just a pain to go home the morning after with what’s left of my clothes. You’re not really kind to them.”

“They get in the way,” Shaw said.

“This way’s just easier,” Root said. “You can do all you want, and I can dress up and go the next morning. That’s all. I’m not looking to get domestic.”

“You made me waffles,” Shaw said, flatly.

“I made _me_ waffles,” Root said. “You just glare every time I don’t share.”

“It’s my food.”

“I’m not going home hungry,” Root said. “Can’t survive on you alone.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, finishing her waffle. After a few more seconds Root stood up, walking over to take out their second serving, before turning off the waffle maker.

“So, was that a yes or no to the drawer?” Root said.

“I don’t know,” Shaw said. “Kinda like the idea of you having nothing to wear.”

“Just means I’m going to be stealing more of your pants.”

“What?”

“You’re missing two or three pairs,” Root said absently. “You only wear the same two, not surprised you didn’t notice. You can get them back when I have a drawer.”

“You’re holding my pants to ransom?”

“It’s hard to find a threat you wouldn’t enjoy,” Root said. “It’s the best I could come up with.”

Shaw sighed.

“Fine,” Shaw said. “One drawer. That’s all.”

“All I need,” Root said. She beamed.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Shaw said. “You don’t live here, it’s not an invitation to stay over.”

“But I do stay over.”

“You know what I mean,” Shaw said. “It’s just sex.”

“I know,” Root said. She sighed exhaustedly. “Just sex. Just toe-curling, mind-melting, bed-breaking sex. I’ve got it. You keep saying.”

She turned her attention back down, eating her breakfast.

“And waffles,” Root said, after a few seconds.

“What?”

“Sex and waffles,” Root said. “It’s just sex and waffles.”

“Don’t make me kick you out,” Shaw said.

“You don’t have to,” Root said, and gave a far-from-innocent smile. “There are more ways you can vent your frustration.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Trust Root to immediately go to that. Still, it wasn’t as annoying as her usual suggestions. Shaw slowly finished off her second waffle.

“About time you had a good idea,” Shaw said.


	63. Let Me Buy You a Drink

Shaw woke up with a pounding headache, briefly nonplussed by how utterly unfamiliar the bed she lay in was. Purple sheets, worryingly soft mattress, and a view she definitely didn’t recognize.

Groaning, she sat up. Yep, definitely not her room. She moved to stand, and immediately regretted it, waiting for a few moments until it felt like her head wasn’t going to explode.

“Hey there!” a stranger’s voice.

Shaw tensed. The woman chuckled.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “This better?”

“Vaguely,” Shaw said.

“You were drinking a lot,” the woman said. “Not surprised you’d get a bad hangover. Do you like coffee?”

“I wasn’t-” Shaw began, then grunted again. “What _happened_? It was just meant to be a casual night out.”

“Yeah,” the woman said. “You got pretty keen on drinking the place dry quickly though.”

Shaw didn’t question that. She’d done stranger.

About then her brain managed to join her body in waking up, and slowly looked around. A stranger’s bedroom. Huh.

“Did we-” Shaw began.

“You really can’t remember?” the stranger said. “I’m hurt. Don’t even remember my name?” At Shaw’s expression, she chuckled; “Kidding, nope, nothing happened. Yet at least, let me know when you’re feeling better, we can change that. And it’s Root.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Wasn’t going to let you go home after you’d had that much,” Root said. “I didn’t know where you lived, so let you stay over at my place.”

“Generous.”

“I’m not that unselfish,” she said. “You look good in my bed.”

“You’d have had more luck flirting last night.”

“I have standards,” Root said. “Didn’t have much luck anyway. You really don’t remember anything?”

“Judging by this hangover, I could’ve won the lottery last night and I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh,” Root said.

After a few moments, she moved to sit next to Shaw. She was beaming, in a fine contrast to Shaw’s pained expression and squinting eyes.

“Ok,” Shaw said eventually. “Stop looking at me like that. Get it over with, what did I do?”

Root raised her eyebrows.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing like that.”

“Then why are you staring?”

“I offered to buy you a drink,” Root said.

“Join the club,” Shaw said. “Woman in a bar, it happens. If you come away with all your bones intact, you’ve done well. You… look like you’re in one piece, so guessing I said yes.”

She surveyed Root slowly. She was only in very casual clothes, arms bare, and a lot of her chest exposed. Shaw could see blurred black writing, and blinked her eyes a few times to clear them.

 _Let me buy you a drink_ was on Shaw’s chest, she knew that. She’d long since stopped paying attention. If any of the ones who’d said that were meant to be her soulmate, hopefully the broken fingers and/or nose would dissuade them.

Then her eyes cleared, and _why not? Get me a beer_ stood out plainly on Root’s chest. Shaw stared just a little too long.

“That was about the point you started really drinking,” Root said. “If it helps.”

Well, drinking until she passed out was definitely a reaction Shaw could see herself having to her soulmate. She could probably do with another drink about then, for that matter.

She didn’t remember it, but equally her tattoo and Root’s seemed to form an actual exchange, so… It did seem possible. And would explain a few things.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Shaw said.

“From joy?” Root said, rather playfully.

“No, from being sick,” Shaw said. “Which way to-”

Root gestured, and Shaw hurriedly stumbled her way to the bathroom, groaning still from her head. Root raised her eyebrows slightly at the sound.

She sat where she was for a little longer, bemusedly listening. So, that was her soulmate heaving in her bathroom. Who said romance was dead?


	64. SoHvaD legh 'IHqu'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root's a nerd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a comment. And the fact Root's a dork.

Shaw emphatically kept her tattoo covered whenever she went out. It was inevitably the beginning to a long conversation she hadn’t wanted to have the first time, and enjoyed even less every following time.

She couldn’t be bothered to get rid of it, all things considered. It wasn’t worth it, so long as she kept it covered.

That day, Shaw had decided to get herself a box set. She needed something to fill her evenings.

So she wandered the shop, looking between the aisles. She didn’t have much of an idea of what she wanted, beyond something interesting. Still, she found herself drawn towards the science fiction section; a lot of the rest were dramas, not to her taste.

At least the shop was quieter back here. Just one other person. That did make it easier.

“Excuse me,” Shaw said to the woman, trying to peer past. There was something that looked interesting back there.

The woman turned for a moment, and looked Shaw up and down. She stepped sideways, and smiled.

Shaw moved closer, lifting up a series she’d dimly heard of, trying to see what she could about it-

“SoHvaD legh ‘lHqu’,” the woman said, suddenly.

Shaw jumped. Slowly, she put the box set down, and turned around.

“It means-” the woman began.

“I _know_ what it means,” Shaw said.

“You speak Klingon?” the woman said, delighted.

“No,” Shaw said. “I looked it up.”

“You look cute,” the woman said. She was still beaming. “Mine’s just ‘excuse me,’ I needed something distinctive to say.”

“So you gave me a tattoo in _Klingon_ ,” Shaw said.

“You don’t like Star Trek?” the woman said. “Everyone likes Star Trek. Or likes at least one series.”

“That’s no reason to go around with a tattoo in-”

“You saw it though?” she said. “Come on, tell me you’ve seen it, if you looked up the words you must’ve wondered about the source material.”

Shaw glared. The woman beamed, apparently taking it as a yes.

“I’m Root,” she said, extending a hand.

“Shaw,” Shaw said, still glaring.

“Favourite captain?”

Apparently Root didn’t know when she was on dangerous ground.

“I’m not having this conversation,” Shaw said.

“Aww, go on,” Root said. “I can guess if you’d want?”

“Don’t-”

“If you don’t like the tattoo, you’re probably not too much of a diehard, so probably not Kirk,” Root said, slowly. “Hoping it’s Picard, or Janeway. Then, ooh-”

“Sisko,” Shaw said, quickly. “Now can you move on?”

Root was talking fairly loudly, drawing just a bit too much attention. Shaw was tired enough of having to go through the ‘yes I know what this tattoo is,’ ‘no I’m not a huge fan,’ ‘I didn’t exactly have a choice in what it said,’ and Root likely wasn’t helping with stopping those exchanges.

Root regarded her for a moment, before smiling.

“I can live with that,” she said. “Favourite episode? Well, silly question, if you’re a Niner it’s got to be the Visitor, I’m guessing?”

“Do you talk about _anything_ else?”

“Of course,” Root said. “But this is fun.”

“This is _irritating_.”

“Fun for me,” Root said. “So, you pick then, what do you want to talk about? Favourite race? Everything wrong with the movies? Tribbles? Want me to teach you Klingon?”

“How about what I’m going to do to you for giving me that stupid tattoo?” Shaw said, staccato.

She’d meant it to come across as intimidating. Shaw had always been proud of her threatening voice. Root, however, seemed to take it as seductive.

“Could be fun,” Root said, and lifted one hand to give a Vulcan salute.

“Can you stop it with the Star Trek?”

“Hm?” Root said. She glanced at her hand as though surprised. “Oh, right, that’s a reference too. Just trying to give you ideas for what to do.”

Shaw paused for a moment, looking at the hand. Then she took in Root’s utterly lascivious grin. Then she groaned.

“ _Really_?” Shaw said.

“You’ll love it, I promise,” Root said.

She rolled her eyes, and turned away, moving to leave the shop. Choosing a box set could wait for tomorrow. Just, anything to end this conversation.

She just sighed when Root followed.


	65. How Much 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel time!   
> Early update because I've got a fairly busy day ahead.

Root sat by her computer, typing quickly. Another hit put out on her: another load of money to steal. Shaw was asleep behind her; she’d mumbled something cutely when Root had snuck out of bed to get back to work, not that Root would ever tell her.

Then Root cursed loudly, and Shaw immediately jumped awake.

“Root?”

Root looked at her screen for a moment; apparently her legal pursuers had tracked her down. She knew there was an FBI taskforce trying to bring her in, but she’d never marked them as a threat compared to the contract killers.

And now they’d apparently found and frozen her accounts. Root swore again; Shaw rubbed her eyes and neared.

“Gone broke, huh?” Shaw said.

“For a couple of hours,” Root said. “Have an emergency fund in paper, and a lot of enemies who’ll be more than happy to make an unwilling donation, though.”

“Always thought you’d have better security.”

“I _do_ ,” Root said. “They must’ve been on me for months, connecting all my accounts, and only acting when they were sure they had all of them. Tiptoeing like crazy too, if they didn’t tip me off. Almost impressed.”

For a moment, something passed across Shaw’s face; they both came to the same realization at the same time.

If Root couldn’t pay Shaw, then Shaw would have every reason to take up the next contract sent to her. Root’s immediate reaction was wariness; something conflicted passed across Shaw’s face.

“Do you work on credit?” Root said.

“No,” Shaw said, flatly.

“Just checking,” Root said.

Then, in one fluid motion she leaned across, picked up Shaw’s phone from the bedside cabinet, and slammed it under her heel before Shaw could react.

“What the _hell_ Root-”

“Just making sure,” Root said. “Saves me having to worry about being outbid. If no one can get hold of you, no one can hire you.”

“I can still shoot you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It stops you being a pain.”

“Thought you liked pain?” Root flashed a grin. Shaw rolled her eyes.

Still, Shaw made no effort to get at the computer and check her accounts online, or leave to buy a new one.

“You’re buying me a replacement,” Shaw said.

“Of course,” Root said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“I doubt that.”

Two hours later, and Root was swearing again. A mildly disinterested Shaw wandered into the room, raising her eyebrows at the sight.

Root could get rather involved whenever she was hacking. Her hair was a mess, and at some point she’d fallen off her chair and instead of getting back up and continued to type kneeling from the floor.

It was a few seconds before Shaw was there. She turned back, and offered a weary smile.

“FBI must have coordinated with the banks,” Root said. “System upgrade on every company I can find, closing the loophole I used to use. I can break it, there’s always a weakness, it’ll just take a while.”

“So, you’re not unbeatable,” Shaw said.

“I am,” Root said. She smiled playfully; “Just takes longer sometimes.”

“So you won’t be able to buy me a new phone.”

“Not for a bit.”

“Great. Where’s that paper cash you mentioned?” Shaw said.

“Bag at the top of the wardrobe,” Root said. “Ten K.”

Shaw snorted.

“I know, not much when you’re used to dealing in hits,” Root said. “Enough for an emergency escape.”

“Now it’s enough for a snack,” Shaw said.

“If you’re doing a food run, get me a-”

“For me,” Shaw said. “I’m not a waiter, get your own.”

Root chuckled, but turned back to the computer. Distractions could wait. Now, just time to try a different tack…

There was an alert; she quickly minimized the window before Shaw could see.

“Uh, Shaw?” Root said.

“What now?” Shaw moved back from the wardrobe, a wad of cash in hand.

“Mind sticking around for a bit?” Root said. “Just a couple of hours.”

“ _Why_?” Shaw said. “You’re sitting down and typing. Not exactly gripping to watch.”

“I’m lonely,” Root said.

She pouted in what Shaw immediately knew was a fake way, in her admittedly successful attempt to look endearing. Shaw rolled her eyes.

By now, she just figured she’d roll with Root’s many quirks.

“Why not?” Shaw said, and sighed. She sat and slumped on the bed.

Root glanced at the alert once more before closing it a second time, smiling back at Shaw. Then she resumed work on trying to break into the bank account of the latest person who tried to have her killed.

She knew how long an exploit took from scratch. This could be a while; she might as well be working with a brand new system. She was good, but not superhuman.

Another alert popped up. Root skimmed it, and closed it.

She had a few warning systems in place. For someone that lived a lot as a target, she needed them. Normally she’d be considering moving if she hadn’t drained the sponsor’s bank account by now, but that wasn’t an option at the moment.

She needed money to pack up and move, and she’d have to do it more than once to have enough time to break a new layer of security. The emergency money was good for fleeing when all other options were exhausted, and they weren’t just yet.

“Are you sure you don’t work on credit?” Root said.

“If you can’t pay me, I won’t help you,” Shaw said. “I’ve told you that.”

“Sure?”

“Very,” Shaw said. She paused. “Why? Someone taken up the hit?”

“Maybe.”

“See, this is why you shouldn’t have broken my phone,” Shaw said. “If you’d let me, then you’d know for sure someone had taken up the hit.”

“Didn’t want to put you in that position,” Root said, “I know you’d miss me, didn’t want you to regret it.”

She turned away from the screen briefly to bat her eyes. Shaw scoffed.

“Ten thousand enough to hire you?”

“Gave you my price for protecting you.”

“Wondering if you’d reconsider,” Root said.

“Not going to happen.”

Root turned her focus back to the computer. This would come down to timing then: it was possible for it to take days to find a new loophole. If she was lucky, though, hours would suffice.

All the potential assassin meant was that she had a time limit. It was almost exciting.

And then the door was kicked open, and a man walked in with a gun in each hand. Root finished her line of code hopefully, hit enter-

Nothing happened. She sighed, and slowly turned around.

“Hey Alastair,” Shaw said.

“Shaw?” he said. “If you’re here, why is she-”

“She broke my phone,” Shaw said, absently. “Didn’t get the alert. Don’t mind me, she doesn’t pay me enough to get involved.”

“She just doesn’t take credit,” Root said. “Old-fashioned, if you ask me. And you two know each other?”

“We run in the same circles,” Shaw said. “Never liked him, to be honest.”

Alastair looked between the two of them slowly. He kept both of his guns lifted, one pointed at Root, and one at Shaw.

“She’s mine,” Alastair said.

“Go ahead,” Shaw said. “I’m happy to. Wanted to for a while actually, money just wasn’t worth it. Let me watch.”

Carefully, Alastair reoriented himself, moving his second gun to point at Root as well. A satisfied smile, and then there was a gunshot.

Alastair slumped to the ground. Shaw put her sidearm down, leaning back on the bed.

Root turned to face her, grinning.

“You _do_ care,” she said.

“No,” Shaw said, just a little too quickly. “He’s just always annoyed me. Would’ve done it anyway.”

“Sure,” Root said.

“Not everything’s about you, Root.”

“You could’ve waited for him to shoot me,” Root said. “You didn’t. You care.”

“Didn’t think of that,” Shaw said, after a moment. She shifted, sitting up. “I’ll remember for next time.”

Smiling to herself, Root returned to her computer. It couldn’t be much longer before she got through the bank’s security, and then things would be fine again. She’d be less complacent about the FBI.

Behind her, Shaw lay back on the bed, her gun still in easy reach. Despite her earlier request, she made no move to leave their borrowed apartment, or leave Root alone.


	66. Investment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shaw deserves a chance to play around with the system too.

Root had a tradition. She put a little of her money away each week; just cents, not much, but it went together well. A dollar a day mounted up, and more whenever she was spending a lot; a little extra barely went noticed.

 _Finch Enterprises, May 2008 is a good investment_. Not many people were born with a stock tip on their chest; Root was eager to see how it would play out.

By that date, she had a thousand or so put away to the side. She invested every cent.

“You know that was stupid, right?” her friend, Hanna, said.

“I trust them,” Root said.

“Why?” Hanna said. “You don’t know them. Could be a prankster, could be an overheard conversation.”

“Have to trust something,” Root said.

Root didn’t consider herself a particularly romantic person, but soulmates were more than that. Someone complementing her, and someone she complemented, went beyond just love.

So she watched the markets. Finch Enterprises went up notably in value after that date, then started to plummet (Hanna tried to get her to take her shares out at that stage. She didn’t), then became more even.

Slowly, though, the value began to rise.

Root was on an emergency snack run when she accidentally bumped into a woman.

“Watch it- hey, nice hat,” Root said, looking up.

The woman looked at her for a moment, then snorted, and walked away. Slightly insulted, Root went to the counter to pay.

“Don’t worry about her,” the shopkeeper said. “That’s Shaw. Not the friendliest customer to anyone.”

“You’re telling me,” Root said.

“If half the stories I’ve heard about what she’s involved in are true,” the shopkeeper said, “I’d recommend keeping away.”

“Dangerous?”

“Very.”

Root was smiling when she left the shop, tempted to strike up a conversation with Shaw just on principle. Instead, when she looked around, she couldn’t see any sight of her.

Root shrugged, and returned home. She glanced at her ever-increasing stocks, rather impressed by her soulmate’s pick.

It was a little over a week before she met Shaw again.

Root woke up to the sound of knocking on her apartment window. It took her a few seconds to remember she was several floors up, and a few more to realize it was too insistent to just be an animal.

She shifted, to see Shaw crouched on the fire escape, rapping urgently.

As much as she’d been curious to talk to Shaw, Root did remember the shopkeeper’s warning. She reached down to pick up a bat she kept near her bed, before walking carefully over and opening the window.

“Finch Enterprises,” Shaw said. “May 2008 is a good investment. And _please_ tell me you listened to that tip, the research was not fun.”

Root stared.

“Yes or no?” Shaw said urgently. “Did you take the tip?”

“Um, yes?” Root said.

Shaw breathed a sigh of relief. She glanced down at the street for a moment, before pushing Root back and slipping inside.

“Come in?” Root said.

“Bit pressed for time,” Shaw said. “Turns out mob bosses don’t get on well with you if you get pissed at them and sink one of their boats carrying a few kilos of heroin. And a few hundred thousand in cash. And their son.”

Root continued to stare, slightly bemused.

“You’ve got the money, right?” Shaw said.

“What?”

“The stocks,” Shaw said. “Just a couple of hundred in at that time would come out with enough to help me get on the run,” she looked around the apartment. “Doesn’t look like you spent much of it.”

“Spent it all on games,” Root said, smiling.

Shaw stared at her for a long, possibly worried, moment. Then Root laughed.

“Didn’t touch it,” she said, “There’s plenty, invested about a thousand. That enough?”

“Plenty,” Shaw said. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” Root said. She beamed. “What are soulmates for? Wait, did you know who I was in the shop?”

“Didn’t know who, knew what,” Shaw said. “Found out about you after.”

“You didn’t say anything?”

“I don’t want a soulmate,” Shaw said. “Bit extra cash to get out of the city when I need to is fine though.”

“You’re trading your soulmate for money?”

“Money means something.”

Root paused. Then, she smiled, and this time Shaw looked slightly unnerved.

“Deal for you,” Root said. “It’s my money, and I’ve always wanted to travel, so I’m coming with you. If a couple of hundred invested would have worked for you, then a thousand should definitely cover both of us.”

“Really?” Shaw said.

“Really,” Root said. “What’s wrong?”

“You want to go on the run?” Shaw said, flatly.

“Not doing much here,” Root said. “And I figure you know the tricks. Besides, aren’t you curious about your soulmate?”

“Not really.”

Root pouted.

“So,” Root said, “Let me get this straight. You found out I was your soulmate, filed that fact away for later use, and only decided to speak to me when you worked out how you could use the tattoos to get funds to escape the city once you got on someone’s bad side, and you think I don’t deserve a holiday?”

“It’s not a holiday.”

“Still,” Root said. “You used me as a piggybank, I should get something.”

“Are you going to let this go?”

“Nope,” Root said.

After a few seconds, Shaw sighed.

“Fine,” she said. “If you can pack quickly, and do everything I tell you. Then you can come. Don’t expect this to be fun.”

“It will be anyway,” Root said. “Looking forward to it, soulmate.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“True though.”


	67. You Started It 2

Shaw walked out of her meeting to see Root standing there, beaming and holding a bouquet of flowers aloft. Shaw just stared, waited a moment, then snatched them from her, walked back into the meeting room, and threw them into the bin.

When she walked back out, Root was still standing there, pouting this time.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Root said.

“I don’t like flowers,” Shaw said.

“They were an apology,” Root said. “It’s an accepted use.”

“Apology?”

“Getting you stuck in the elevator and making you late,” Root said. She smiled. “Forgive me?”

“No.”

Root pouted more.

“Still no,” Shaw said.

“Fine,” Root said. “So, how was the meeting?”

“Do you care?”

“I’m trying to make small talk here,” Root said. “You’re making it very difficult.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, and walked past Root. Root turned, and moved along close behind her. Shaw didn’t seem especially pleased.

“We’re soulmates,” Root said. “You’re going to have to talk to me sometime.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

“Boring.”

“We’re twenty two floors up,” Shaw said, “I will throw you out the window.”

“Can’t keep your hands off me, huh?” Root said. “Bodes well.”

Shaw sighed, pausing only to wait for the elevator. Thanks to Root delaying her, the rest of the people in the meeting had gone to their floors, leaving her with a longer wait.

Still, when the elevator came, it was empty. She walked in, stabbed at the button for the first floor, and stepped back.

The moment Root moved to punch in a number on the keypad, Shaw grabbed her wrist.

“For old time’s sake?” Root said, hopefully.

“If you think I’m letting you get away with that again…”

“You didn’t want the flowers, you don’t want to go down memory lane…” Root sighed. “You could at least try to be more romantic, you know.”

“I’m not romantic.”

“I noticed,” Root said.

Root made another lunge for the keypad. Shaw grabbed her again, twisting further when Root tried to use her other arm.

They struggled for a few seconds; Shaw never stopped glaring, while Root was beaming. It was a few moments before Shaw realized Root was doing a rather terrible job of getting her arms free, and maybe a second more before she realized just how close Root’s face was getting.

“Hey,” Root said, soft.

Shaw let go, pushing her away. No, she wasn’t doing the fight-kiss moment.

And then Root span around and started pressing buttons. Damn it. Shaw managed to pull her away, but not before the next four floors were added to their journey down.

 _Bing_.

“I missed this,” Root said happily.


	68. This is Not Your Captain Speaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a line requested, so enjoy!

Shaw really preferred it when she could just read on her flights. Calm flights were rarely an option in her line of work, though.

A dozen or so passengers were being used to transport drugs into the country; bribing guards wasn’t worth it for getting one in, but for several… So that was a lot of people, and suitcases, that would be worth a lot of money.

And it’d be better, too, if you didn’t have to pay for the imports. So, that was why she was here: arrange for the valuable cargo to end up in the possession of her employer, rather than whichever kingpin had actually done all the work.

For now, she’d wait. It’d be better for them to get closer to their destination before they did anything.

Apparently she had a partner on this job. Shaw didn’t know them just yet; it was meant to limit the possibility of betrayal. In practise, it was just annoying. They knew what seat Shaw was in, that was their only connection.

Several people had wandered past her row before the plane had taken off: it could have been any of them.

About half an hour from landing, someone walked down the aisle. Shaw only caught a glimpse of the back of their head, only interested in them after spotting the note they’d slipped over the arm of her chair: _cockpit, five minutes_.

Finally, something was happening. Shaw gave a rather forced smile to the woman sitting next to her, glad of the chance to leave. She watched the clock with anticipation.

Shaw got up, feigning needing the toilet, and went down the aisle. When there was just one block to go, she paused, catching sight of a woman standing closer to the pilot’s cabin.

Shaw waited for a few seconds, before the woman caught sight of her. The stranger nodded, lifted a finger to her lips, and lifted five fingers.

Wait five seconds. Ok. Shaw nodded.

The stranger gestured again, miming a finger gun. Shaw tapped her pocket in response: yes, she was armed. Hadn’t been easy to sneak it on board; she’d slipped one of the smallest guns she could find into a false bottom under a delicate-looking ornament.

The ornament had hidden the weapon from the scanners, and when security had been suspicious of the contents of the box, a glance had satisfied them. They didn’t want to play around with something fragile, and it looked like there was no more room in the box.

Ammo was more of a problem. She only had five shots: only what was carried in the gun.

Still, no one else knew that.

The woman slipped into the cockpit; apparently she’d been keeping the door ajar. Shaw counted down five seconds, before casually crossing the aisle.

Whatever happened in the cockpit seemed to trigger some sort of silent alarm. Shaw caught sight of a staff member immediately moving towards the cabin; Shaw closed the distance between her and him, pulling out her gun and pressing the barrel into the small of his back.

“I wouldn’t,” she said.

Slowly, they continued to the cabin. She stood perfectly casually beside him; one would need to look very closely at her hand to see what was concealed within. They finished going down the aisle, and entered the cabin.

For now, the plane seemed to be on autopilot. The woman stood there, two unconscious bodies on the floor, occasionally steadying the controls. She gestured; Shaw locked the door, and rendered the latest guard unconscious with the butt of her gun.

Then the woman sat in the captain’s seat, glanced around for a bit, and found the intercom system. She clicked it on, and spoke in her best announcement voice:

“This is not your captain speaking,” she said. “Hope none of you were that set on JFK airport, there’ll be a slight detour.”

Shaw tensed. _This is not your captain speaking_ , she’d always just assumed she wouldn’t hear those words. Or, if she would, that it wouldn’t be in the middle of a job.

“You ok?” the woman said. She clicked the intercom off. “I’m Root, by the way. You have a name, beyond ‘the other agent?’”

Shaw paused. Then, slowly, moved to sit in the co-pilot’s seat, and groaned.

“Call me Shaw,” she said. “And don’t say it.”

A swiftly-curtailed grin almost spread across Root’s face. Still, she sat back.

“Say what?” she said, innocently. “Oh, you mean that we’re soulmates?”

“I said don’t.”

“Fine,” Root said. “Do you know how to fly a plane?”

“Why would I know how to fly a plane?”

“Just wondering,” Root said. She sat back in her seat for a moment, considering. Then, she leant forward to click the intercom. “If anyone on board knows how to fly a plane, let us know.”

She shifted back, chuckling to herself at the sudden, muffled, panicked sounds that started outside the cockpit. Despite herself, Shaw smirked.

“Guess we’ll have to wait for him to wake up,” Root said. She nudged the unconscious pilot with her foot. “Want to tie the other two up?”

Root pulled a long, coiled stretch of rope from within the hem of her jacket. Mildly impressed by the inventiveness, Shaw took it.

She went to work, crouching, searching, and restraining both the guard she’d taken in, and the co-pilot. She tied the pilot up separately, and less securely. Wouldn’t be too hard to convince him to fly a little further afield with a gun to his head.

“You’re good with bondage, huh?” Root said.

Shaw glanced up, then glared.

“If you’re going to flirt, at least turn the intercom off,” Shaw said.

Root looked back at her console, feigning surprise. She smiled to herself as she clicked it off.

“That an invitation to flirt?” Root said.

“Not even close.”

Beyond the unfortunate meeting, this was going well. The pilot would wake up and fly them to the right airport; they could use their phones to make sure they were going to the right place. Then they’d escape through the cockpit window, and a pre-arranged worker at the airport would take the valuable suitcases.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Root suggested.

“What?”

“Well, we’ve got to do something while we wait,” Root said.

There was the sound of a scuffle outside. The door to the cockpit ought to be more secure now, so the staff probably just had to stop the passengers panicking. That’d distract them, even if they had a way into the cockpit.

Shaw sighed, and decided she might as well play a few rounds. She gave the pilot a last gentle kick, seeing if he’d woken up yet, then looked back at Root.

Shaw lost the first round, drew the next, lost the third, then won five in a row.

“Why are you always picking scissors?” Shaw said.

Root waggled her eyebrows. After a moment, Shaw slumped back. Well, at least the intercom was off this time.

“Can you at least try to make the prospect of hijacking a plane with you less tempting than crashing it?” Shaw said.

“Where would the fun in that be?”


	69. Two 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel. Don't you just love annoying Root?

Just as Root expected, Sameen confronted her after class. Her top was still slightly marked by her rather impressive choking fit in class.

Root delayed herself after walking out of the class, pretending to simply be checking her timetable. It wasn’t much longer before Sameen stormed out of the class.

“What the _hell_ is your problem?” Sameen demanded.

“Excuse me?” Root said. She looked at Sameen innocently; Sameen seemed far from convinced.

“You’re the girl that calls herself Root, right?” she said. “What did you do that for?”

“Do what?” Root said, with wide eyes.

“You _know_ what,” Sameen said. “What you said. When you said it.”

“How could I know what I’d say would have such an effect on you?” Root said.

“You knew,” Sameen said. “I saw you keep looking back at me, after I spoke.”

“Knew what?” Root said.

“That we’re-” Sameen glanced from side to side, then lowered her voice. “Soulmates.”

“We’re soulmates?” Root said loudly.

Sameen shushed her, and pushed her back into the classroom before anyone could look to see who’d spoken.

Their teacher gave them a slightly surprised look, but shrugged it off. It was the end of the day anyway; no one was using the room, and the teacher probably just wanted to go home.

“Don’t say that,” Sameen said.

“You’re the one that said it,” Root said.

“Only because you-” Sameen cut herself off, letting her breathing slow. “Are you happy?”

“Pretty happy, yep,” Root said. “Met my soulmate.”

“Who you annoyed on purpose.”

“Had to get your attention somehow,” Root said. “Would you have talked to me if I hadn’t gotten you angry?”

“And why do you want to talk?”

“Soulmates, sweetie,” Root said. She paused. “Want to see a movie?”

“With you?” Sameen said. “No.”

“Dinner?”

“Not with you.”

“Chess club?”

“Really?”

The two looked at one another for a little time. Root never lost her smile, while Sameen never lost her glare. Well, Root reflected, rocky starts were far from unheard of.

She only vaguely knew Sameen, and most of what Root knew she’d figured out during this latest exchange.

Intimidating, smart, and apparently her default state was somewhat angry.

“Got to do something together,” Root said. “We’re soulmates, it’s what soulmates do.”

“I really don’t care, Root,” Sameen said. She paused. “And if you tell _anyone_ that we’re…”

“That we’re what?” Root said.

“You know.”

“Nope,” Root said. “Totally forgotten, you’ll have to remind me.”

There was a brief, silent battle of wills. Eventually Sameen gave a despairing sigh, _why me_ , briefly closing her eyes and pausing her constant glare.

“That we’re soulmates,” Sameen said curtly.

“Love it when you say that,” Root said.

“Stop.”

Another pause. Eventually Root perked up.

“Paintballing!” she announced suddenly.

“What?”

“We should go paintballing,” Root said. “Good soulmate bonding activity, and you get payback,” she paused. “Well, you can try for payback.”

Sameen tilted her head, making it rather obvious she was imagining shooting Root multiple times.

“I could live with that,” she said.

“It’s a date,” Root beamed.

“It’s not a date.”


	70. Root the Magnificent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested an idea, and somehow this was the way I decided to write it, so enjoy magician-Root!

“I am Root the Magnificent,” she announced, raising her voice to be heard over the bustle of the park.

It was a fairly casual outfit she wore to go with such a grandiose name, but hopefully standing on a small podium would help get attention. Then there was the small cart to her side, filled with all the various tools and tricks she could use.

Street magic was more fun than people thought. Magic in general was, for that matter; people always thought of it as a happy, fun life choice, but really it just came down to manipulation.

Make people look the wrong way at the right time, make them do exactly as you want… Root had always liked trickery, and for that matter had always found people easy to manipulate.

First up a simple bit of mind-reading. Shuffle a deck of cards, show it to a volunteer, rest a hand on his shoulder as part of a pretence at forming a telepathic connection, and get the whole audience looking at the card.

They would all be thinking the same thing: the deck of cards had been cut, and the bottom card was facing them. Root couldn’t even see the slightest scrap of the card. Everyone would be thinking of that, and everyone would be looking at the card. No one would be looking at her hand on the volunteer’s shoulder, and the rather obvious mirror set into the back of her ring.

Misdirection and manipulation. She was always amazed by just how much she could get away with.

An overplayed reveal later and there was a smattering of applause. She didn’t have too much of a crowd, but it was about what she was used to.

Still, there was less enthusiasm as useful. Ok then, skip to the actually good tricks.

“Next up, I’ll need a volunteer,” Root said. “You!”

She picked a woman from the crowd at random; the woman hesitated slightly. She seemed to be about to leave anyway, which was why Root picked her. If nothing else it’d make her audience look slightly more impressive.

Root took the woman’s hand. That as another advantage of street magic; once she picked a volunteer, it was a little harder for them to leave.

“Your name?” Root said.

The woman said nothing. It didn’t seem like typical stage fright, indeed it seemed slightly annoyed, but Root powered through it.

“Silent type, then,” Root said. “Fine. Now, I’ll need the back of your hand for this. Guessing you’re not going to say anything, huh? In which case, we’ll just use the card from the last trick.”

She wrote down ‘four of hearts,’ on the back of the woman’s hand in full view of everyone, with a slightly gaudy pen, before covering the woman’s hand with her own.

She gave her typical speech, giving a mental count in her head. Ten or so seconds usually did it.

This trick usually got a good reaction; it seemed impossible. When she lifted up her hand, the writing would have formed different words. She’d cover it again quickly, and when she lifted her hands for the last time it would be gone without so much as a smudge.

Not many magicians did the trick. Partly, it was because it was only really suitable for close-up, and partly it was due to the difficulty in getting the right kind of ink. Due to its rarity, it was definitely a lesser-known trick.

Root had a friend at a morgue. A lot of people gave their bodies to science, and of those, the ink from their tattoos was drained, and could be taken rather efficiently after they’d died. Root had bought a little a while ago, and filled up a pen. It didn’t take too much to perform the trick, just so long as she remembered which pen to use.

“And now, we see, the words have become-”

Root lifted her hand, and faltered just slightly. _I am Root the magnificent_ in clear ink. For a moment, she ignored the more-impressed applause, and nearly forgot what to do next.

The woman wrenched her hand away; or at least tried to. Root grabbed it by the wrist, holding it and covering it again.

She smiled at her ‘volunteer.’ That was the one downside to the trick, the person involved in it could usually figure it out, but there were a lot of tricks like that.

The woman was glaring more than usual. So _that_ was why she didn’t speak.

Five more seconds. Root knows how this worked; the ink formed the right words, and then it began to slide until it was positioned in the right place, over the heart.

“And now, the words are gone,” Root said, recovering from her earlier stumble and lifted her hand from the woman’s. She kept her grip around the woman’s wrist.

Another slightly more enthusiastic smattering of applause. It probably seemed more impressive because Root was mentioned by name in the tattoo. Definitely had caught Root off-guard.

“Brief break,” she said, before dropping her voice and stage-whispering to the woman, “Look, you can talk now, we both know what those words were.”

The crowd was already beginning to disperse. A few made donations; Root made sure to nod a thank you to them while she spoke.

“Fine,” the woman said, eventually. “Happy?

Those words Root knew. She smiled.

“Yep,” Root said. “So, what is your name anyway?”

“Shaw.”

“Did you have to be so uncooperative?” Root said. “I mean, I’ve had tricky volunteers before, but it’s hard to do a routine if you don’t talk.”

“I just wanted to see who you were,” Shaw said. “I didn’t want to be a volunteer.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Root said. “Those words, I wasn’t expecting to see.”

“And you had to pick me,” Shaw said.

“Destiny, sweetie,” Root said.

She beamed. Shaw turned to try and walk away, stopped only by Root’s grip on her wrist.

“Should at least stay in contact, don’t you think?” Root said.

“I don’t like magic tricks.”

“Fine, I won’t turn tricks with you, if you insist,” Root said. “We’re still soulmates,” a pause. “I’ve got a trick to get your number, if you want?”

“No,” Shaw said. Rather quickly, she stole one of Root’s pens (thankfully not the gaudy one), and scribble a number down on Root’s hand. “No tricks. And if those words change, you’re on your own.”

“Got it,” Root said. “Sure you don’t like magic?”

“Very.”


	71. I Am 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel!

Shaw tried to play the stoic bodyguard in public. A few fans were curious about what ‘she’s taken,’ meant, and had begun speculating about who Root might be seeing.

Shaw had dealt with public figures going through that before. It made guarding them somewhat trickier, usually, with tabloid journalists so much more keen to invade their privacy.

“Want to be named?” Root said.

They were being driven to an interview. Root took part in several, for the sake of raising awareness of her work as much as anything. Still, there could often be personal questions.

“Since your little jealous spat,” Root said, “People have been curious about who’s ‘taken’ me. Want them to know it’s you?”

“I’m _not_ jealous,” Shaw said, wearily. “And no. I know how people react to soulmates, I don’t want that.”

“Got it,” Root said. “I’ll play coy. You can keep being not-at-all possessive by glaring at everyone who flirts with you.”

“I glare at everyone who comes near you,” Shaw said.

“My point exactly.”

“You _pay me_ to,” Shaw said. “I’m your bodyguard. That’s what I do.”

“You seem to enjoy it though,” Root said.

Shaw sighed. Root chuckled.

“You want me to confirm I’ve met someone though, right?” Root said.

“If it’ll shut your fans up,” Shaw said.

“Possessive.”

“Annoyed,” Shaw said.

They arrived at the TV studio not long after. Shaw didn’t go on stage, having a place in the audience to keep an eye on Root, and meet up with her after.

She didn’t pay too much attention to the interview itself. She’d heard it all before; Root liked to vocalize her work when she was at home, especially if she ran into a problem. Putting it into words helped.

Still, Shaw did pay more attention when the topic turned, not that she allowed herself any obvious reaction.

“Now then,” the host said, “Are there any truth to the rumours you’ve met your soulmate?”

“There is,” Root said.

“Any chance of meeting them?”

“Not just yet,” Root said. “We’re keeping it quiet, for now. She can be a bit shy.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows. Root surveyed the audience quickly, focusing briefly on Shaw. She smiled.

“Is there anything you can tell us about her?” the host said.

“She’s the jealous type,” Root said. “I just want to warn the people that are still trying to say my tattoo. She might come after you.”

Sometimes Shaw was certain Root enjoyed antagonizing her. Especially that Shaw’s job was the opposite of one that would let her just hit Root.

It was tempting though, sometimes.

Shaw tuned out the rest, keeping a mildly hostile glare on Root throughout. It didn’t seem to bother her.

It wasn’t until the drive back that they had the opportunity to talk. Shaw had kept a lot of the crowd away from Root as they’d departed, enjoying the chance to be a little forceful. It helped work out the irritation Root liked to build up.

“Do you want me to be jealous or something?” Shaw said. “Or just trying to annoy me?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Root said innocently.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Shaw said. “You always do. That interview. I’m ‘a bit shy’ now?”

“Thought that was what you wanted?” Root said. “No one will suspect you of being my soulmate now. You didn’t want to be known for it, you said.”

Shaw paused.

“And calling me possessive?”

“Scare off the fans around the house,” Root said. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

So, Root had actually been helpful. For once. It took Shaw a few moments to get used to the fact Root had actually listened to her, and a few moments more to consider it.

“Did you have to find the most annoying way possible to do what I wanted?” Shaw said.

“Oh, Sameen, you have to know me by now,” Root said. “Of course I did.”


	72. Cinnamon Roll 2

Root lay back in bed, one hand idly resting in Shaw’s hair, twirling a strand between two fingers. Shaw was glaring at her, less than happy at the cutesy gesture.

“What?” Root said.

Shaw sighed.

She didn’t say too much. Neither of them did, just basking in the afterglow. It wasn’t unlike the last time they’d been together, though this time Root was fairly sure she’d wake up with Shaw still there.

If Shaw’s renewed interest in Root since she’d become a hired killer didn’t ensure that, then the restraints locking her wrists and ankles to the bed probably would.

Shaw didn’t seem particularly uncomfortable. She’d raised an eyebrow when Root had gotten them out, but gone along with it just a bit too eagerly.

“Not leaving this time, then?” Root said.

Shaw tugged on her arms. Cuffs rattled.

“Not going anywhere, apparently,” Shaw said.

“I’ve had my fill of you leaving,” Root said. She smirked, shifting and leaning on her side and arm to look down at Shaw. “Not a great way to wake up, you know. Especially after you think you’ve met your soulmate.”

“You weren’t my type,” Shaw said.

Root pouted.

“Well you weren’t,” Shaw said. “You’ve changed now. Terrible taste in décor aside.”

“You’ve only got yourself to blame.”

“What, I inspire you?” Shaw said.

“Not really,” Root said, teasingly.

Shaw’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. Root liked to antagonize her, and in situations like this Shaw liked to make her work for a reaction.

“Last time, though, I didn’t get over it immediately,” Root said. “I know, I only knew you for a day, it shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. If a soulmate couldn’t stick around, what did that mean? So I started working a bit more, setting myself some challenges…”

“You were a programmer, right?” Shaw said.

“Yeah,” Root said. “Moved on to white hat hacking when I realized how good at venting frustration it could be. And then onto black hat when I realized just how plain fun it was.”

Root lay back, reminiscing. Neither of them moved for a moment; even Shaw would admit there was something to just getting the chance to relax. The shackles might be a little incongruous, but even so.

“The wrong people found my online persona,” Root said, “Well, the right people from my perspective, and I did a few favours. Just branched out from there. But, yes, technically this is all your fault.”

“Why do I need to know your life story?” Shaw said.

“Curiosity,” Root shrugged. “Making up for lost time. Doesn’t really matter, you’re not running away this time.”

“You’re going to have to let me out sometime,” Shaw said.

She tugged on one wrist. Root chuckled.

“Who says?” Root said.

Shaw raised her eyebrows; Root leaned across, briefly brushing her lips.

“Sure you want out?”

“Later,” Shaw amended.


	73. Need a Ride?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely inspired by a Tumblr post.

Root was waiting by the edge of the road. It was a good road for hitch-hiking; a fair few cars came down this way, and more than usual might be suitable for giving lifts.

Most of them were unsuspecting, generally. Usually people giving lifts were alone, and most of the roads passed through quiet spaces. It wasn’t too hard to carry out a quick theft, and occasional murder if they were particularly obnoxious.

Well, it was a living.

Another car slowed. Root smiled, waiting for it; the window rolled down.

“Need a ride?” the woman inside said.

Root stumbled for a moment. So, this was her soulmate; Root wasn’t unprepared. She’d always been fairly sure she’d meet her soulmate doing this. It didn’t particularly bother her, it just surprised her.

Her plan was the same.

“Anywhere you’re going,” Root said.

The woman raised her eyebrows.

“Was that meant to be flirting?” she said.

“Kinda,” Root said. “But really, I’m doing a Jailbreak challenge for charity, to get as far away as I can from my starting point without spending anything. Just going as far as you can.”

The woman paused, then shrugged and reached across to open the door. Root slipped inside.

“I’m Root,” she said.

“Shaw,” the woman said. “Don’t expect much small talk.”

“That’s a relief,” Root said. She smiled; “Already had a few hours of it, it gets exhausting.”

Shaw started driving down the road again, gaze focused on the view in front of them. She barely glanced at Root.

Judging by Shaw’s words, she was Root’s soulmate. Root would admit to being relieved that she didn’t seem too bothered by it; that would make this much easier.

They carried on down the road for a fair few minutes more. Root kept an eye out, glad to see they were quickly going to one of the quieter roads.

Root sat quietly, and Shaw didn’t push for any conversation. It was a relief; much easier to steal from someone if they hadn’t shared any personal little tragedies. Admittedly that never stopped Root, but it could be a bother.

Soon the car began to slow. Shaw frowned.

“Engine trouble, I think,” she said. “Happens sometimes.”

She pulled the car to the side of the road, stopping it and pulling on the handbrake.

“Wait there,” Shaw said.

She hopped out the door, moving back around to the trunk. Root raised her eyebrows; well this was just too easy. She scanned the front of the car for any obvious valuables, before reaching back and grabbing her gun.

Root opened her own door, slipping out.

“I don’t need any help,” Shaw said at the sound.

“Not offering it,” Root said.

Root stretched, under the pretence of pacing, before idly getting closer to the back of the car. In one fluid motion she raised her gun-

Only to see a rather impressive armoury in the trunk, and Shaw holding a gun of her own aloft.

Root kept one eye on Shaw, but couldn’t help but glimpse inside the trunk. Past all the weaponry, there was quite a collection of wallets and keys and phones. All of them definitely couldn’t be Shaw’s.

“You’re trying to steal from me?” Root said, more offended than afraid. “I’m trying to steal from you. Do you _mind_?”

“Put the gun down,” Shaw said slowly.

“Why don’t you?” Root said. “I’m pointing mine at you too.”

“Because I’m probably a better shot than you,” Shaw said, “And you’re holding yours completely wrong.”

“Ok, sure, I didn’t pass the safety course,” Root said, “I’m not planning on using it safely. Not many people can miss from this close, though.”

“It just takes one,” Shaw said. “Then I’ll have to take your belongings rather than having you give them to me.”

“Didn’t think this through, huh?” Root said. “Aside from picking up exactly the wrong person, even if I was really just on a Jailbreak, I wouldn’t have brought any money with me.”

“You’d have brought your phone,” Shaw said. “Everyone does, and most people can access their bank accounts with an app.”

“Some soulmate,” Root snorted.

“Do you really want to antagonize me right now?”

“Who’s antagonizing?” Root said, with a grin that made it clear she knew the answer, “I’m just stating a fact. Kinda makes sense, actually.”

“Still going to shoot you,” Shaw said.

“I know, I know,” Root said. “Me too. What do you want to do while we wait?”

Shaw didn’t say anything.

“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with-”

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw said.

“Have any better ideas?” Root said. She paused. “My arm’s getting tired.”

“Feel free to lower it.”

“You want to stay in this stand-off?” Root said. “Thought soulmates were meant to be more fun.”

“I could do this all day.”

“Stamina,” Root said. “I like that. Can’t we just agree this mugging’s too much trouble?”

“I can wait.”


	74. Not Going to Happen 2

Somehow Root and Shaw had ended up going home together, even if it was just to talk. Shaw wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. Root could be somewhat depressing.

“So, what do you think they mean?” Shaw said eventually, still slightly baffled.

“What?”

“The words literally everyone else calls soulmate tattoos,” Shaw said. “If they don’t find your soulmate what do they do?”

“Who knows?” Root said. “You don’t need an alternative answer to know that one’s wrong.”

Shaw sighed, and slumped back.

“Might just be coincidence,” Root said. “Random words, by force of numbers someone’s likely to say them, and we just don’t hear about the people who never heard them because by the time they know that, they’ll be dead.”

“So I’m just bad luck?” Shaw said.

“Could be good luck,” Root said. She flashed a smile; “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Most people seem to find them,” Shaw said. “Just saying that soulmates exist, that’s all, not that they’re interesting.”

“Even if it isn’t coincidence, that doesn’t mean they’re soulmates,” Root said. “There are a lot of things that can connect two people, it doesn’t need to be romance, or friendship, or whatever kind of soulmate-bond they’re meant to have.”

“Only people I’ve heard saying things like that are conspiracy theorists,” Shaw said. “Tell me you don’t think it’s some worldwide breeding program or something.”

“God no,” Root said. She chuckled. “Even I wouldn’t go that far. Can spot a few problems with that idea too.”

Shaw paused for a moment. It’d be a while before she could figure out Root, she supposed.

Root just didn’t think the universe would be so nice as to guide people to their soulmates; she’d said as much. Most people seemed to accept that soulmates existed though; even Shaw did, despite her view of them.

It was odd to be talking to someone who didn’t.

“Why are you so insistent, anyway?” Root said. “You keep saying you don’t want a soulmate, and keep complaining that I don’t think I’m yours. Meeting me change your mind?”

“No,” Shaw said, ignoring Root’s smirk. “Just expected to have more of an argument.”

“Disappointed you didn’t get one on that topic, and making up for it?” Root said. “Not necessary to make an argument out of everything, you know.”

Shaw just groaned. Root chuckled.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Root said, “I’m not complaining. You like picking fights, huh?”

“Are you trying to say we do get along?” Shaw said. “Don’t go changing your mind and want to be my soulmate, I’ve told you what I think.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Root said. “Just saying, we do seem to be compatible.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows.

“Compatible?” she echoed, “Really, is that the best word you could come up with?”

“You’d prefer made for each other?” Root said, her voice lifting up an octave and giving it a sickeningly sacharrine tone. Shaw winced.

“ _No_.”

“Then I’ll stick with compatible,” Root said, smiling.

 


	75. Keep it Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers!  
> I hope you've enjoyed this collection so far. If there's anything you'd like to see, or see more of, please do let me know. this is just a reminder that I'm always taking requests.   
> I'm going on holiday near the end of this month, so I'll try to queue up as many stories as I can, but I can only come up with so many ideas myself. Have just over 20 ideas on my list (though only one more written, I took a brief break to work on another story), which may not be quite enough.   
> Always feel free to suggest or prompt things. 
> 
> (And on a related note, any ideas for celebrating chapter 100?) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Root didn’t speak with her neighbour. They lived next door to one another, and sometimes Root had glimpsed her in the hall between their doors, but they’d never had any reason to interact.

That was one thing she liked about apartment buildings, especially in this city. People didn’t mind if you weren’t that friendly; there was no need to talk, and no need to get to know one another.

After several months Root knew no more than when she’d come in: that she had a neighbour with dark hair, who occasionally came home late and stumbling, and who liked to play music.

It was the latter trait Root disliked the most. It was harder to work with it blaring away.

Still, her neighbour’s taste wasn’t unbearable, and usually didn’t last too long. Her neighbour wasn’t at home all day every day.

Until she was. Either it was an illness, or a break, or whatever, but the same few songs had been playing on repeat for hours, and easily sounding through the thin wall that divided their apartments. It was slowly driving Root mad.

Eventually, it got to be too much. Root saved what she was working on, stood up, walked over to the wall she shared with her neighbour, and took in a deep breath.

“Keep it down!” she shouted, as loudly as she could.

There was a few seconds of silence. Root prepared to yell again, just as the music began to quieten.

She sighed, relieved, and began to walk back to her computer.

“What did you say?” the voice came through her wall, muffled.

Root hesitated. Ok, she knew those words. The question was whether her neighbour had actually heard what she said, or if she was just trying to make sure.

“You heard me,” Root said, slightly shakily. “If you didn’t, I’m sure you’ve gotten it written down somewhere.”

“Yeah,” her neighbour said. The words came through very muffled; then, louder, “Damn it.”

So. Soulmate. Root wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad that this had been staved off for months by how little interaction they’d had.

“You’ve got good music taste,” Root said, eventually.

“I thought you wanted me to keep it down?”

“I did,” Root said. “There’s a time and a place.”

Root paused. She moved back, to pull a chair closer to the wall, and sat down.

“So, soulmate,” Root shouted.

The music started to blare again, louder. Root chuckled; so her soulmate was like that, then?

“I’m Root,” Root said, a bit more loudly to be heard through the wall and over the music. There was a few seconds before the music quietened again.

“Call me Shaw,” her neighbour said.

“Nice name.”

“Yours isn’t.”

Root chuckled. Before she could say anything else though, another voice burst in from somewhere above them:

“You two! Keep it down!”

Well, they had been shouting. Root tilted her head thoughtfully.

“I’m coming over,” Root shouted.

“I hear you,” Shaw shouted back, just a little louder.

“Quiet!” the person above them said again.


	76. Watch Where You're Walking 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel and idea!

Root picked Shaw up from work. She’d always struggled to bring Bear in, and keep him looked after, while she worked. It was easier to have Root look after him for the day, and have her bring him by later.

It probably wasn’t helping with how he always seemed to want to play with Root, rather than actually act like a guide dog.

“So, what is it you do?” Root said, on the way there.

“Teach,” Shaw said. “Self-defence.”

“Really?”

“What?” Shaw said. “Ex-military, I know my share. Don’t need to see to be able to hit someone.”

“I’m fairly sure self-defence teachers need to do more than hit people.”

“It’s an excuse,” Shaw said. She shrugged. “I know how most things are laid out there, I don’t need any help getting around.”

“You can still fight?”

“It’s not that hard,” Shaw said. “Self-defence is about reaction. Once someone’s got you, you know where they are, anyone could fight back with their eyes closed. Do I strike you as someone peaceful?”

“It varies,” Root said, sidestepping as Shaw tried to elbow her. “I didn’t mean it like that, just curious. Might join your class someday.”

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” Shaw said. “You don’t want to give me an excuse to start hitting you.”

“How would you know it was me?” Root said, playfully.

Shaw walked in silence for a few seconds. Bear navigated her past a taped-off construction area, and with Root’s help they crossed the street.

“I’d know,” Shaw said.

“Enigmatic much?”

“I don’t need to see you,” Shaw said. “Everyone’s distinctive. Partly touch, partly sound. You can recognize people by their voice, and there are a lot of other sounds they made. Their breathing, grunts of pain, gasps of exertion… It all goes together. I know you.”

Root left Shaw at the building where she worked. Shaw nodded her off, and Root left for her own work. She took Bear with her, procrastinating getting home by playing in the park for a few minutes.

As observant as Shaw could be, she thankfully hadn’t yet noticed the non-squeaky dog toys Root brought with her when they left the house.

She worked form home for a few hours. When Bear started to behave oddly, she took him for a check-up; it was always important he stay in good shape, so they did err on the side of caution with him.

She phoned Shaw after. He was going to be fine, but the vet wanted to keep him for a little bit longer, just to make sure the symptoms had been dealt with.

So when it got darker, Root went along to pick Shaw up.

“Woof?” Root offered.

“You’re a terrible replacement for Bear,” Shaw said. “I just want you to know that.”

“I can carry a conversation,” Root said.

“Definitely prefer Bear.”

Still, she took Root’s hand, and Root began to slowly walk the path home. Neither of them were in any particular rush, and if Root was honest she did enjoy walking like this.

Not that she’d say it. Still, the chance to just spend time with Shaw was something she liked.

After a little while they got into a routine. Root just had to tug on Shaw’s arm for her to stop, then they could look before crossing a road, or wait for an obstruction to get out the way.

Shaw didn’t say anything, but Root know it meant something for Shaw to trust her like this.

“You two,” a stranger’s voice suddenly sounded, low and gruff. Shaw stiffened, sound more distinct to her. “Your money. Now.”

The mugger was a few steps to their side. Shaw tugged on Root’s hand.

“How far is he?” she said in a low whisper.

“Couple of metres,” Root said.

“Be specific.”

“Two,” Root said. “He’s got a gun.”

“In which hand?”

“Right.”

“Stop talking!” the mugger said, sharper, brandishing his gun.

Root glanced from side to side. It was getting darker; there wasn’t anyone likely to come by.

Shaw extricated her hand from Root’s, turning to face the source of the mugger’s voice. She took her wallet out from her pocket, taking a slow step towards him.

“Put it on the ground!” he demanded.

“I’m not going to know what I’m putting it in,” Shaw said.

The mugger paused. He took in her glasses, and a glimpse of scarring on her cheek. Then, apparently concluding she wasn’t a threat, he nodded. A moment later he spoke:

“Slowly, then.”

She took another step forwards, reaching her hand out. The moment she felt him try to take her wallet she reacted.

It was remarkable how well-placed her jabs were. She initially aimed to the right of his hand, getting a good blow into his stomach, and from that found his gun with ease, disarming him.

She heard when he tried to swing back; reacting to the sudden rush of air she darted backwards, then closed in again. A matter of seconds later and he was on the ground.

Root approached, picking Shaw’s wallet up again. She offered it to Shaw; Shaw started to swing.

“Relax!” Root said, quickly. “It’s me.”

“Right,” Shaw said. She paused, then sighed. “Missed doing that.”

“Did look like you were having fun.”

Shaw took her wallet, pocketing it. She reached out, and Root took her hand again. They began to move slowly, leaving the would-be mugger on the ground.

“Suppose we should call the police,” Shaw said.

“We’re safe now,” Root said. “Don’t bother. Let’s get home.”

“Sure?”

“Very sure,” Root said, just a touch urgently.

It was about then Shaw recognized that tone in Root’s voice. She chuckled, dimly amused.

“Enjoyed watching me beat on him?” Shaw said.

“Of course,” Root said, continuing to tug on Shaw’s arm. “Now hurry up.”

“Why?”

“Because if we don’t get home soon someone’ll probably end up calling the police on us,” Root said.

“Wouldn’t it be worth it?” Shaw said.

Root paused, contemplatively. “Maybe.”


	77. Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slight role reversal this time.  
> And we're onto the ones I started writing after my break, so that was close.

Shaw stood, poised, outside the building. If her information was accurate, and it always was, a group in there was set to launch a virus meant to do away with almost all networked communication.

They were either old-fashioned, or idealists. Her time in the ISA told her that people would cling to and fight for all manner of ideals. Wanting to live without the internet was a weird one, but not the weirdest.

They were in the process of developing a virus that could slip past all detection and propagate rapidly before activating. With their skillset, they had a high chance of success.

Not that Shaw would let that happen.

_Four of them._

The voice in her ear. Shaw smirked to herself; she did like having an edge.

“Which first?” she mouthed, looking at the security camera across the street.

_Two o’clock_.

Shaw stepped inside, and started shooting. Even if they spent most of their time around a computer, these were still dangerous people: armed too. Shaw fired four times, crossed the room, and shot every hard drive and computer she saw.

What they were doing constituted a threat, especially to that voice in her ear. It might as well have been murder.

Ever since Harold’s Machine had freed itself, thanks to the code embedded in the virus, it had opted to take more of an active role. Harold and Reese already had fixed roles; Shaw was the newcomer, and the obvious choice.

_Potential asset/threat 01 approaching_.

Shaw slowed, only a short way down the street. She quickly reloaded her gun, keeping her hand on it.

“Who’s that, then?” Shaw said. “01, first one?”

_Knows of my existence. Simulations indicate a 94% chance she would have attained administrative access instead of Primary Asset if not for a delay in information reaching her_.

Nearly ended up in god mode. That did make her stand out. How much _did_ she know?

“Where is she?”

_Six o’clock_.

Shaw kept walking, slowly. Asset/threat was one of the more interesting designations; Shaw had been one of them apparently, in the ISA. People who might want what was best, but also might want more input and control.

She liked how the Machine said it, too. Her jumbled voice, segments of various other recordings, let the words blend together somewhat. There was no gap between the sounds.

“How much does she know?” Shaw said.

_Unknown_.

“That’s not like you.”

_Potential asset/threat 01 suspects I do not wish to be found, and has taken steps to hide her work_.

“What does she want?”

_To meet me_.

“Just meet?” Shaw said. “Not hurt, destroy, help, reprogram… Any particular reason?”

_Ideology_.

Shaw sighed. Always ideology. She’d never get used to how most people could easily dedicate their lives to such abstracts.

_Six o’clock, two metres._

Shaw span around, reaching out before she’d turned enough to see anyone, pinning the closest person against the wall by their neck. She lifted her gun quickly, pressing it to the underside of their chin.

If the Machine had warned her, she’d evidently decided there was too great a chance the stranger would be a threat.

She paused for a moment or two, to regard the woman. Potential asset/threat 01: dark hair, wide eyes, and a slow, reverent smile.

“You’re her,” the woman said, softly.

Shaw tensed. Damn it, of all the times to hear those words-

_Her name is Root. Designation: asset._

And apparently that was enough to have her be classed as an asset rather than a threat. Well, if she was meant to be matched with Shaw, then given where Shaw’s loyalties were… It made sense, in a way.

“I’m who?” Shaw said. As Root’s expression began to change, recognizing the words: “Don’t. Just answer the question.”

“I figured She had to be working with someone,” Root said. “As soon as I realized what She was doing, I could follow where She’d been. People kept talking about a woman with superhuman aiming and foreknowledge. I knew it-”

Root’s eyes shifted to Shaw’s ear, spotting the earpiece.

“Is that- Does She talk to you?” Root said.

She began to reach for it. The Machine murmured an unnecessary warning in Shaw’s ear, and Shaw pressed the gun a little harder. Chastened, Root lowered her hand.

“What does She sound like?” Root said.

“Not important.”

“It is,” Root said.

Shaw shifted, relaxing her grip on the gun just slightly. She glanced sideways by instinct, to make sure the street was still empty. Still, she knew the Machine would warn her if anyone came close.

“Guessing she’s asked you not to kill me,” Root said, “Or you’d have done it. You can put the gun down.”

_It is safe_.

Shaw groaned. Great, now they were working together. Shaw sighed, but did step back. She lowered her gun, but didn’t holster it.

“What should I do with her?” Shaw said.

She looked sideways to a camera. Root followed her gaze, solemnly.

_Has potential to be useful asset._

Shaw sighed.

“Fine,” Shaw said. She started down the street. “Come, then, if you want to.”


	78. What Do You Say? 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The continuing, not-at-all romantic adventures of Root and Shaw.

Shaw lay back in bed, vaguely aware of Root’s weight to her side. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking.

They were in that odd middle-ground between being too active to go back to sleep, and too tired to do anything in particular. Shaw liked to use it to think.

Her pay had been cut at her job; nothing she’d done, they were going through financial issues. The lost money was beginning to add up.

“Want to get married?” Shaw said, absently.

There was a lengthy pause.

“What?” Root said, eventually.

Shaw shifted, still lying where she was. It was early; when she had a chance to laze, she didn’t want to rush anything.

“You heard me,” Shaw said. “Not asking twice.”

“What about the arrangement?” Root said. “This is just sex. And waffles. Mostly sex. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“That’s all.”

“So why are you proposing?”

Root lay there, mystified, and slightly uncertain. She was as keen on the arrangement as Shaw was; feelings just complicated things.

Shaw gave a long, exasperated sigh. It took her a little while to convince herself to speak, and a little longer to find the words.

“Aww, embarrassed?” Root teased.

Shaw groaned.

“Not like that,” she said. “Don’t go thinking I’ve fallen for you. And you’d better not have-”

“Relax,” Root said. “So, anyway, why the proposal?”

“It’s not a-”

“’Want to get married?’” Root echoed. “Sounded like a proposal.”

“Do I look like I’m on one knee?”

“Not entirely sure you can stand up,” Root said. “Haven’t done my job right if you can. One knee’s out of the question, that takes balance.”

Shaw sighed.

“Tax benefits,” she said, eventually.

“What?” Root said.

“We’d get tax benefits,” Shaw said, speaking quickly. “I could do with a couple, and they’re not going to hurt you. I’m never going to go marry anyone else, I doubt you are, and neither of us have tattoos so no chance of being distracted by a soulmate. I need a bit more cash, are you in?”

“So romantic.”

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw said.

Root chuckled. She flailed blindly with one arm, until she found Shaw, and patted her way down Shaw’s side until she found her hand.

“It’s not about romance,” Shaw said. “I told you. Tax benefits. That’s it.”

There was a longer silence. Shaw allowed it; while in her mind it was a strictly practical decision, she knew it could feel like more to someone else. She hadn’t thought Root would be one of them.

Or maybe Root was working out how to phrase an answer in the most annoying way possible. Shaw expected that.

It was a few seconds before Root rolled over, moving closer to Shaw, and then sliding on top. She braced herself with her elbows, poised with her face just about Shaw’s.

“That’s all it is?” Root said, voice low.

“What?” Shaw said.

“Tax purposes,” Root said. “I can get behind that. I’m with you on the rest though.”

“That’s all,” Shaw said.

“Then yes,” Root said.

She leant down, and gave Shaw a quick kiss. Shaw craned her neck upwards to continue it.

“Trip to Vegas in our future?” Root said.

“Probably easier,” Shaw said.

“Should be fun regardless,” Root said. She smiled happily. “You’ll be a good wife.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying.”


	79. I Remember You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't really know what to say about this one, someone requested a fantasy-type AU, which there are a few of when it comes to soulmate AUs.

“I remember you.”

Shaw slowed, turning on the spot. She’d just been walking down the street when she’d heard the voice; instinctively she turned at those words.

She’d admit to being curious about soulmates, if not much else. She took a moment to regard the woman who’d spoken; casual clothes, if a little bit too much jewellery.

“Pretty sure we haven’t met,” Shaw said.

Shaw could see part of one of those words tattooed into the woman’s chest. As the woman stepped closer, Shaw got more of a view. Still, she didn’t seem particularly surprised to have heard her tattoo spoken.

“Not in this life,” the woman said.

Shaw mentally cringed. Great. One of those.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” the woman said. “Past life regression is a respected branch of hypnotherapy.”

“I wouldn’t say respected,” Shaw said.

The woman chuckled, then moved closer. “I’m Root. You must be Shaw.”

Shaw paused.

“Cute trick,” Shaw said, eventually.

“Think it’s a trick?”

“Plenty of ways it could be done,” Shaw said. “Get someone believing, string them along for their money. Not interested.”

“You find out we’re soulmates, and you’d rather think I was a conwoman rather than sincere?” Root said. “That probably says something about you.”

“Don’t want a diagnosis.”

“Your loss,” Root said. “You know what could be fun, though? Come by, I’ll see if I can help you see the same things I did.”

“Why, so you can get me distracted and run off with my wallet?” Shaw said. “No thanks.”

“Won’t work if you’re not relaxed,” Root said. She shrugged. “You don’t have to bring anything with you if you don’t want to. Special offer for soulmates. Get to see we’re meant for each other.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I knew your name, didn’t I?”

“How’d you learn that from seeing a past life?” Shaw said. “What are the chances we’d all be born with the same names? I didn’t pick my own name. Did you?”

“Yes.”

Shaw sighed.

“Fair point, though,” Root said. “Maybe they’re not past lives per se, maybe the fates,” she gave theatrical wiggle of her fingers, “Fixed the memories to always give the right names. Lot of explanations.”

“Maybe it’s bullshit.”

“Maybe,” Root shrugged. “Bet I could convince you, though.”

“You’re keen.”

“I saw you for the first time a few months ago,” Root said. “I just met you for real. So you could say I’m a fan.”

“Really?” Shaw said, sceptically. “What did you see? Did it involve me hitting you?”

“Actually, yes,” Root said. She chuckled.

“Might be something to it.”

“Had to be a good few centuries ago, if it’s a past life,” Root said. “We were sat around a fire, just us, I was teaching you to read. You looked nice in the firelight.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows.

“Way I think of it, is this,” Root said. “We’ve had multiple lifetimes together, so you’re not getting away in this one either.”

“Oh, really?”

“Afraid so, soulmate,” Root beamed. “It’s destiny.”


	80. What the Hell Are You Doing Here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked about the possibility of them having the same tattoos. Enjoy!

Root slipped silently down the side of the building, traversing the windows. It was late; not many people would be in, and most of the security ought to be half asleep by now.

She pulled herself in through the window, bending her knees as she touched the floor. Root hurried to the wall by the door, pulling herself close and out of sight, and held her breath.

No sound. No sign anyone had heard her entry. She smiled.

Good. Now then, to get to the painting. It was on loan from a museum, for the purposes of authentication. Not the kind of thing Root normally went after, but it was worth enough to the right people.

She peered around the doorway. No one there; she tiptoed out, and down the corridor, mentally recalling the building’s layout.

Past two rooms, around the corner, second left…

She ran headfirst into someone. Root jumped back, hand going for her gun, before she took in the other person; dark clothes, no uniform, no badge… Not security.

“What the hell are you going here?!” Root stage-whispered.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” the woman said, in almost the same instant.

Root had always liked the phrase. Back when she’d been learning to read, she’d read it off her own chest, repeating it over and over, liking the sound and taste of the words.

It was such a satisfying exclamation. Evidently the woman thought so too. Root had long since started using it as a default.

Well, presumably their tastes had to be aligned. That was what the tattoos were meant to mean.

They both stood too far out in the open for a long few seconds, momentarily too stunned to react with common sense. It was the other woman who regained control first, head darting from side to side.

She ran the short distance to what might have been a conference room. Root followed, ducking in just in time. She caught sight of a guard’s torch just before she slipped behind the door.

Both of them waited, painfully close, painfully silent, doing their best to suppress their heavy breathing as the guard walked by.

They hadn’t been seen. Good.

“You never answered me,” Root whispered.

“You never answered me.”

“Do you do anything other than repeat?” Root said.

“You first,” the woman said. “What are you doing here?”

“The Turner’s worth a lot to the right people.”

“Art thief. Great,” the woman said.

“Hey, less judgement, you’re here for the same.”

“Which means I know what most art thieves are like,” the woman said. “Don’t expect me to be thrilled.”

“I’m just in it for the money,” Root said. “And apparently the company. What’s your name?”

“I’m trying to steal a painting,” the woman said. “I’m not giving my name out.”

“Boring,” Root said. “You can call me Root.”

“Pretentious too. Great,” she said. After a moment, she sighed. “Shaw.”

She peered out around the doorway. After a moment more, she snuck out. Root waited a few seconds before following.

“Race you?” Root whispered.

Shaw closed her eyes in a brief moment of frustration.

“You don’t look like you’re planning to share, that’s all,” Root said.

“Will you be quiet?” Shaw said. “There are guards-”

“You know the movie-way to make someone shut up,” Root said. She beamed, puckering her lips.

Shaw gave a flat glare.

“What?” Root said. “We’re soulmates. Probably ought to sometime.”

“Not _now_ ,” Shaw said, whispering urgently.

She turned her head, glancing back around the corner. Whatever she saw made her tense.

“So, later then?” Root said.

“What?”

“Not now,” Root said. “So, later?”

“Will it make you shut up?”

“Might help.”

“Then _fine_ ,” Shaw said. “Someday. Maybe.”

She glanced around the corner again, before beginning to sprint down the hall. It wasn’t long before Root followed, grinning.


	81. Gimme My Spaceship 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel!  
> I think a flashback was requested, but I'm not exactly sure how to write toddler Shoot, so I hope this suffices :p

Root knocked excitedly on Shaw’s door. A far less active Shaw came to answer, opening it and staring flatly across to Root.

“What?” Shaw said.

“I found my spaceship,” Root said, happily.

She lifted up a small, grey, faded plastic ship. It was one of those that didn’t know whether it wanted to be technically accurate, or wanted to look sci-fi, and so had generally the right shape and design but far more windows and bulges than a real ship would have.

Most of the painted-on windows had peeled off, leaving little more than raised sections. It looked somewhat chewed. Still, on the whole it looked sturdy.

“What,” Shaw said flatly, again.

“Parents were clearing out old junk,” Root said. “We found my baby toys, and I think this was it. Look familiar?”

“Why would it-”

“You stole it,” Root said, smiling.

Shaw groaned. Back to the tattoos. Shaw’s was a childlike demand for a spaceship back; Root’s was an adamant refusal.

Their parents had always said they were soulmates, after that playdate. Neither Root nor Shaw had paid too much attention, both had been too young to remember the actual event, though Root seemed to find the idea much more amusing.

“Really?” Shaw said, “You think that’s proof? Just because you happened to have a spaceship toy doesn’t mean I took it.”

“Are you sure?” Root said. “I can picture it. Little old me, happy and content and waving it around in the air, before you crawled over and just snatched it. You can be greedy, you know.”

“You’ve put way too much thought into this.”

“I’d have tried to get it back from you,” Root said. She beamed. “Our first fight, do you think?”

“Definitely not our last.”

Root lifted the toy, bringing it along an arc through the air. She made odd engine-like sounds with her lips. Shaw raised her eyebrows.

“It’s not a car,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said. “And sound couldn’t travel through the vacuum of space anyway, it’d be silent.”

“Nerd.”

“I’d have been tiny,” Root said, defensively. “I wouldn’t have known.”

She started waving the toy ship around again, left and right, making the same strange noises. Shaw watched, bemused, for a long few seconds.

“What are you doing?” Shaw said, eventually.

“Tempting you.”

“You’re normally much better at it,” Shaw said. “Seriously. Lose the spaceship.”

Root pouted. Still, she moved the ship from left to right again, trailing an elegant path through the air.

Shaw took a step back and closed the door. She sighed, then scowled as Root started to make the same, annoying noise much more loudly.

Sometimes she wondered why she still spoke to Root.

Irritated, Shaw opened the door, reached out, yanked the ship away, and closed the door. It was a few seconds before Shaw relaxed; at least that had shut her up.

“Gimme my spaceship!” Root said, suddenly, mimicking a much more childish voice.

Of course. Shaw sighed.


	82. Hey Soulmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to Root playing around with the tattoos.

Root looked around the busy station, barely able to make out any distinct faces in the crowd. It seemed a sufficiently busy day.

Root made her way through, getting to what she guessed was about the centre. She paused for a few seconds, considering her phrasing, then shrugged. Probably wasn’t worth it.

Carefully, she pulled herself up onto a bench, standing tall, and took in a deep breath:

“Hey! Soulmate! Get over here!”

She waved for a few seconds, before hopping down from the bench, and sitting and waiting. She was mildly disappointed to see the crowd of maybe half a dozen people begin to come nearer to her. It was hard to tell how many were curious, how many had heard her announcement, or how many were just close by coincidence.

Apparently she wasn’t the only person to have had this idea, if other soulmates had done the same, or would do the same. She couldn’t have that many soulmates, presumably, so their tattoos had to come from others.

It was simple enough, though. She shouted that in a public place, and of the people that heard, some would recognize it as being their own tattoo. A way to find a soulmate without any of the usual waiting and impatience.

A guy tried to speak; she shushed him.

“No, no, no one talk,” she said. “Keep quiet, all of you,” she regarded the guy for a few seconds. “Actually, you, don’t bother. You can leave.”

He hesitated. Root shooed him off, before looking at the five or six remaining. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the farthest one; a woman who was conspicuously trying to not seem like part of the group.

She’d probably heard Root, then. Was she just spectating? Even after just a cursory glance, Root hoped not.

She gestured for the small crowd of hopefuls to stay where they were, and hurried over to the woman.

Most people were curious about their soulmates. If you heard your tattoo shouted in a public space, you’d try to find whoever had said it. That was just human nature. It wasn’t surprising those people had come up to her.

“Hey!” Root said. “No, don’t talk. Can I see your tattoo?”

The woman paused for a moment, then shook her head just a little too quickly. Root beamed, and grabbed her wrist.

Well that pretty much confirmed it; someone who was less than enthused by the prospect of a soulmate. She’d heard Root, wanted to look at the potential soulmate, but hadn’t wanted to get too involved.

Maybe it was just sheer bloody-mindedness, but Root liked her for that.

“I’m Root,” she said.

The woman stared, flatly. Root pouted.

“Say ‘hello Root,’” she said, playfully. The woman sighed.

“Hello Root,” the woman intoned dully.

“Do you have a name?”

“Shaw,” she said.

“Hey Shaw,” Root said.

She tugged her own top down, exposing the ink on her skin. _Hello Root_. She beamed over to Shaw.

“Glad you heard me,” Root said.

Shaw was staring at the tattoo. She seemed to be willing it not to count; ok, Root had made her say it, but predestination paradoxes seemed fairly common when it came to tattoos.

The fact was, their tattoos matched. Shaw’s was what Root had said, and now this was Root’s.

“You can go,” Root said absently, looking over her shoulder. She rather quickly returned her attention to Shaw. “Liked you best anyway.”

“It’s not mutual.”

“You’re the one that came over,” Root said. “Had to wonder about me.”

“No.”

“Just no?” Root said. “No excuses? Sounds like denial.”


	83. I Am, You Know, Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a couple of semi-requests for fandom-based tattoos a while ago. Pretty much just wrote this one for one aspect.

Shaw made sure her tattoo was well and truly covered before going out to the convention. She only wore casual clothes; while a number of people were going dressed up as characters, she wasn’t that much of a fan.

She blamed her soulmate, whoever they were. _I am, you know, yours_ tattooed on her chest from the moment she was born. It said something that, despite her usual disinterest in the idea of a soulmate, she’d spent a little while thinking about her tattoo.

It had been a little while before she’d worked out what it meant. It was a reference, and eventually the show was made, aired and a friend had pointed out the reference to her.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Shaw had been less than thrilled by the title, but on a very bored (and slightly drunk) night she’d decided to sit down and watch it. Might as well see what her soulmate was into.

Somehow she’d ended up enjoying it. Reluctantly so, but still. Hence deciding to come to the convention, when one was near her.

She chose a few of the panels that seemed more interesting, and made her way through the crowds, jostling past a few particularly slow walkers. She found her place in a queue. A few moments later and a cosplayer walked up beside her, taking their place in the line.

Shaw glanced at her, briefly looking her up and down. Dark hair, and a fairly good outfit. If Shaw was to guess the character, she’d say Winifred ‘Fred’ Burkle; technically from the spin-off, but even so the woman was doing a remarkably good job with the outfit.

“You’re Fred, right?” Shaw said.

The woman looked sideways for a moment, and then suddenly starting grinning.

“I am, you know, yours,” she said, heightening the sweetness of her voice.

Shaw stared, flatly.

“What?” ‘Fred’ said, “I know, not technically one of Fred’s lines, but it was the first thing I thought of. Had to go for something sweet, you know.”

“Is that the only reason you wore that?” Shaw said. “So someone would say…”

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” ‘Fred’ said. “I’m Root by the way. Fan of the show, I guess?”

“Shaw. You got me curious,” Shaw said, tapping her tattoo.

“You still liked it enough to come,” Root said. “Doesn’t seem like you came just to meet me.”

“Haven’t put as much thought into it as you seem to,” Shaw said.

“You should thank me then,” Root said playfully.

“No.”

“Why not?” Root pouted. “Got you into a show you liked. Did you a favour, don’t you think?”

Great, her soulmate liked to be irritating. Shaw looked away, shuffling forwards in the queue.

“Did you like Fred?” Root said, eventually.

“I guess.”

“Yes or no?” Root said.

“She was cute,” Shaw said, absently. “Entertaining enough.”

There was a brief silence. After a moment Shaw looked sideways, only to see Root beaming at her. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Cute huh?” Root said.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure,” Root said sceptically. “Want me to keep the outfit on?”

Shaw looked away.

“Thinking about it?”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”


	84. This is Not Your Captain Speaking 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel by request! Also seems to have turned into murder comedy. Trust these two.

The pilot blearily came to, blinking, and beginning to strain against the ropes around his legs. Soon he realized his hands were free, and began to move to untie himself, when there was the click of a gun and a voice.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Shaw said.

“What-” he began.

“Quick recap,” Root said. “This plane’s being diverted. There’s some cargo that we want delivered somewhere else, you’re going to fly us a bit further afield.”

“And no tricks,” Shaw said. “My friend here’s going to make sure you’re going to the right place with her phone.”

“You can’t use your phone when-” the pilot began.

“Oh come on,” Root said, “Your security’s so tight we can’t bring on a drink if it’s more than 100ml, if we could crash a plane with a phone call there’s no way we could bring them on board.”

The pilot paused.

“And if I don’t help?” the pilot said.

Shaw waved her gun. “Sure you can guess.”

A longer pause. Shaw didn’t break eye contact. This was always the tricky part; most people were more resilient than they thought. Faced with a threat, people would resist on principle.

“Your… cargo,” the pilot said slowly, “What is it?”

“Not important,” Shaw said.

“No,” the pilot said.

“Excuse me?” Shaw said.

She leaned closer, pressing the cold barrel of her weapon to his head. He tensed, flinching and sweating, but did his best to stop his voice shaking.

“No,” he said again. “I won’t help you. And you won’t kill me, because you need me to fly the plane. I-”

Shaw fired. There were muffled panicked sounds behind the door, passengers reacting to the sound of the gunshot. Shaw simply stood up, wiping her gun clean on the pilot’s uniform.

“That was kinda hot,” Root said. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Wake up the co-pilot,” Shaw said. “Maybe the sight of the pilot will make her react a little differently.”

“On it,” Root said.

She crouched down, shaking the co-pilot’s unconscious form. She frowned, then slapped her a few times. Uncertainly, Root pressed two fingers to the co-pilot’s neck.

Meanwhile, Shaw walked back to the co-pilot’s seat. She scanned the controls, vaguely able to deduce how most of them would have to work, but not particularly confident when it came to using them.

“Tiny problem,” Root said.

Shaw turned back, to see Root crouching over the co-pilot, her expression a perfect visualization of _oh shit_.

“What did you do?” Shaw said, wearily.

“I think she must’ve had some kind of heart condition,” Root said. “Can’t find a pulse.”

Shaw paused.

“You killed the co-pilot,” she said.

“It was an accident!”

“You killed the co-pilot,” Shaw said, again.

“ _You_ killed the pilot,” Root said, just as accusingly.

“Because I thought we had a co-pilot!” Shaw said.

The two looked at one another. Shaw briefly glanced back to the third living figure in the cockpit, but rejected him. He was a guard, he wouldn’t know how to fly the plane any more than them.

Root pushed the co-pilot’s body to the back of the cabin, before moving herself back to the pilot’s seat. She gave a less-than-confident smile across to Shaw.

The plan was based on hijacking the plane and getting it to fly to a different airport. Autopilot might get them most of the way, but they needed to not only change course, but land. They wanted a pilot for that.

“Any ideas?” Shaw said.

Root paused, then leaned forwards, and clicked the intercom on.

“This is your hijacker speaking,” Root said, “If anyone knows how to fly a plane, come let us know. For real this time.” She turned the speaker off.

“You want to open the door to let someone in?” Shaw said.

“Good point,” Root said, clicking the intercom back on. “Correction: if you know how to fly a plane, come tap it out in Morse code on the door,” she turned it off, leaning back and facing Shaw. She paused. “Do you know Morse code?”

“Who knows Morse code?” Shaw said, disbelievingly.

Root clicked the intercom back on. “Scratch that. We’ll get back to you.”

Once it was off again, she sighed. She withdrew her phone, glancing at the map for a few seconds. She tilted her head, considering. They were about twenty minutes from landing, so given how long it could take to land, probably about that far from their desired destination.

Shaw stared at the clouds out through the window, contemplating. She’d admit to being darkly amused by the muffled panic she could hear after Root’s announcements.

Still, Shaw’s attention returned to the controls. She surveyed them for a few seconds. Some were obvious, like the labelled gauges and the wheel, others incoherent. Still, the actual job of flying a plane couldn’t be too difficult: it was just pointing in a certain direction and waiting.

“Move over,” Shaw said, standing up.

Uncertainly, Root did so, watching as Shaw took the pilot’s seat. Shaw squared herself, looking out at the clouds, and set her hands upon the wheel.

The plane gave a brief jolt, but managed to steady quickly. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Root,” Shaw said, “You’ve got the map. Does it look like we’re heading the right direction?”

“Too soon to tell,” Root said. She sat in the co-pilot’s chair. “I’ll give you alterations, you fly?”

“It’s a plan.”

“Figure this one’ll work?”

“We’ll see,” Shaw said.

It lasted a good quarter of an hour. It was a little bumpy, but they survived. Root called out course corrections, and Shaw adjusted their heading. Slowly they turned away the plane’s original destination, and began to head towards their preferred airport.

It was impressive just how much of flying seemed to be sitting and waiting.

“Any idea how to land?” Root said, eventually.

“Not as such,” Shaw said.

“So that’s a no?”

“Once we get close to the airport, they’ll get in contact with us,” Shaw said. “Security’s probably set off the alarm letting them know there’s been a hijacking. Air Traffic Control will want to know our demands, etc, they can walk us through it.”

“That’s your plan?” Root said. “Isn’t that the plot of Airplane?”

Shaw decided to not answer that. A markedly less confident Root delivered the next few instructions, ensuring the plane got closer to the airport.

Out the window, Shaw spotted a few other planes. That probably meant they were getting closer. Shaw paid extra attention, careful not to get too close to any of them.

“Like being told what to do?” Root said, absently.

“What?”

“Seemed awfully eager to go for a plan with rather, ooh, submissive tendencies,” Root said. “Just wondering if that said anything about you.”

“Another time, Root.”

“Do seem pretty good at giving orders too, actually,” Root said. “Can’t say I mind either way.”

Root kept her attention focused on her phone as they got closer. She gave instructions more frequently, their heading more significant now they were nearer.

The last couple of minutes felt far longer than the rest of the flight.

Eventually though there was a ping, and a crackle as the Air Traffic Control of the airport below sent a message.

“This is Air Traffic Control,” a woman’s voice said. “You’re off course.”

“We know,” Shaw said. “Clear a runway for landing. You’ve got to know we’ve been hijacked by now.”

There was a pause. Root peered out the window, curiously.

“It will take time to-” the woman began.

“Figure it out,” Shaw said. “Plenty of others circling around up here, give us one of their slots. I don’t have a damn clue how to circle this thing. You’ve got one minute. Let us know when it’s clear. And for that matter, find a pilot who can tell us how to land this. There are an awful lot of people on board and I doubt you want us crashing into your buildings.”

Shaw leant back, and waited. Root gave her a thumbs-up.

Still, once another voice took over the feed, Root sat up. An extra pair of hands wouldn’t go amiss when it came to landing.

One last warning to the passengers outside, and the nerve-wracking descent began. There was a sudden jump that made Shaw’s stomach feel like it was about to burst out of her, before a more even pace was set. Root flicked switches, while Shaw tried to keep the wheel level.

Maybe they could have done without gripping it every second, but it was very hard to let go.

“You’re coming in too fast. Slow down.”

“How?!”

The moment the wheels touched the runway, Shaw jerked, and the plane began to swerve. She tried to correct quickly, doing everything she could to slow down.

It felt like a far longer deceleration than any other plane Shaw had been on. For a long few seconds she was convinced they were going to crash, but somehow the juddering subsided, the blur outside the window became more distinct, and the plane came to an uneven, but firm, stop.

Shaw let go of the controls, relaxing for the first time in a long while. She shook the tension out of her arms, and sighed in satisfaction.

“My ears are killing me,” Root said, quite ruining the moment.

Shaw reached across and flicked the nearest ear. Root tilted her head, then chuckled.

The hasty descent had been for a few reasons. Partly it was because, as Shaw had said, she wasn’t confident in her ability to circle a plane; partly it was for practical purposes. Security and the local law enforcement would take time to mobilize.

After basking for a couple of seconds, Shaw moved back to her feet, and withdrew her gun.

“Cover your ears,” Shaw said.

“You really don’t like my ears, huh?” Root said.

Still, she did so, as Shaw fired twice at the cockpit window. The panes of glass shattered in two places, and it didn’t take much for Shaw to punch her way through the rest once the structure had been weakened.

Getting the cargo out was someone else’s job. Theirs was just to get the plane here.

Shaw had a foot up on the controls, halfway out through the screen, before she turned to Root.

“Coming?” she said. “Wouldn’t recommend sticking around.”

“Sure,” Root said. She took Shaw’s hand, moving up and out through the remains of the window. “We make a good team.”

“We nearly crashed a plane.”

“But we didn’t,” Root said. “See? Good team.”


	85. What it Says

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw wants to get her tattoo removed.

Shaw sat in the waiting room patiently. She’d waited years for this; the first day she was of age she’d planned to come in here. Her eighteenth birthday. This was her little present to herself.

 _Remember what it says_. She wasn’t too sure of the context, she just knew those were the first words her soulmate would say to her.

Shaw wasn’t a fan of that idea. She wouldn’t have her life dictated by a few scribbles of ink.

She was waiting to have it removed. It wasn’t the same as ensuring she never met her soulmate, but it was close enough. Whoever she spoke to couldn’t be sure Shaw was the only person who’d say their tattoo.

And without one of her own, there was no way for anyone to confirm that they were Shaw’s soulmate. In less than an hour, Shaw would be free.

Her appointment came up. Shaw stood, walking across into the slightly cramped room down the hall. There was a comfortable, reclined chair, and a smaller stool beside it.

A woman sat in the stool, next to a table covered in an array of tools. Shaw moved closer, just getting near enough to read the woman’s name-tag (‘Root’) before she sat on the chair.

“Just get rid of it,” Shaw said, a moment before Root could speak. “I’ve been through all the moralizing speeches, you don’t need to bother. I’m here, just do it.”

Root paused for a moment, regarding her. Then she nodded, and gestured; Shaw took off her top, exposing the inked skin.

Shaw didn’t pay too much attention to the next few steps, choosing instead to lean back. The chair was comfortable. Some people would have to sit in it for long amounts of time, of course. Shaw’s visit should be comparatively short.

She waited, feeling Root dab a cool gel onto her chest. After a few moments, the skin went numb. She looked down to see Root prodding the same spot.

“I don’t feel it,” Shaw said.

Root nodded, smiling to herself as she read the tattoo. Then she turned back to the desk, picked something up, and moved back to facing Shaw with a dangerous looking implement in one hand.

Shaw couldn’t quite suppress a thrill as Root started working.

It was an odd thing to see, for one. Layers of her skin were being peeled away, the only known way to remove that kind of tattoo, and yet she didn’t feel a thing.

That, and finally, _finally_ , she was rid of those words.

“You don’t talk much?” Shaw said. Root looked up. “It’s fine. Refreshing actually.”

Root smiled, and continued to move the device along Shaw’s chest.

It was a few minutes before she pulled back. Shaw shifted, but Root lifted a hand gesturing for her to stop. Instead, Root reached back to get a cloth to dab the skin clear. When she saw a few spots of ink remaining, she returning to rubbing it off.

When Shaw’s chest was well and truly clear, Root put the machine down, and picked up another bottle of medicine. She dabbed it surprisingly tenderly on the reddened area; she needn’t have bothered, Shaw couldn’t feel it anyway.

A bandage was plastered on, and then Root sat back. She lifted a small bag from under the desk, handing it across to Shaw.

Shaw knew the details. It’d contain a pamphlet on aftercare, and probably an antiseptic and a few changes of dressing. Nothing complicated.

“Well, thanks,” Shaw said.

Root nodded, and smiled.

Shaw got up, and was halfway out the door when she heard Root’s voice for the first time.

“Remember what it says?” Root said.

Shaw stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. Root had seen the tattoo, after all. Just a practical joke.

“Very funny,” Shaw said, turning. “You do that to-”

And then she saw Root’s tattoo, exposed that very second by a playfully beaming Root: _just get rid of it_. Well those words were familiar. Sure, maybe a lot of people said that to Root, but the exact phrasing, before Root had said anything to them…

“Think you were a bit too late in getting rid of it,” Root said. “Bad luck.”

Literally the last person who’d ever see her tattoo. Shaw suppressed the urge to bang her head on the wall.

“You couldn’t have told me _before_?” Shaw said.

“But then I wouldn’t get to see your face,” Root said, as though it were obvious.

Damn it, she’d been so close.


	86. Disgustingly Cliché

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request!

Shaw hated spy movies. It probably came from actually knowing the reality. Well, that and her tattoo. _Any last words?_ What kind of person actually said that?

Well, she had a few times, but it was rarely the first thing she said to someone.

Truth be told, she was more concerned with how awful they sounded, than the potentially ominous meaning.

Shaw went in for her latest briefing, and came out moderately annoyed. It was nothing too special: weapons deal that needed them to interfere, taking place in an otherwise non-descript club.

Still, the actual substance of the mission was more the stuff of TV shows than espionage. Pose as patrons, mingle, try to get close. Disrupt if possible, overhear if nothing else.

Which somehow lead to Shaw donning an elegant dress so that she didn’t stand out. She didn’t mind the dress so much as the fact she’d seen this exact plan on a TV show.

Damn clichés.

She sat by the bar. Alcohol at least made the mission bearable; she kept an eye on one specific person in the mirror set into the wall behind the bar. The client.

After a few moments, a woman went to sit beside them. Shaw watched carefully.

She knew how this would go. Weapon shipments could hardly be brought into the bar, so they’d bargain and deal then, the woman would leave to verify money had been transferred to her accounts, and she’d return a couple of minutes later with a  key and a location.

Rousseau, if their information was accurate. She was a fairly prolific weapons dealer, always surrounded by a contingent of guards. Shaw couldn’t see any of them; no doubt they were like her, trying to blend in.

“Hey darling,” some guy sidled closer to her.

She fixed him with a glare, shifting angle just slightly so the bag she carried around her neck slipped open. He took one glimpse at the gun inside and rather wisely hurried away.

That was the other downside to missions like this. On her off-time, sure, she could do with a little distraction, but they just got in the way now.

She returned her attention to the mirror, only to see Rosseau had gone. Shaw muttered a curse, downing her drink before hurriedly getting to her feet.

Rosseau would be going outside, which meant that way…

Shaw caught sight of her just by the door. Doing her best to remain inconspicuous, Shaw followed, feigning tipsiness.

Shaw made it about two steps outside when she felt a gun against the back of her neck. She saw Rosseau a short distance away, nodding to whoever she’d hired.

Shaw scowled. This whole mission had been a pain. Cliché after cliché; weapons deal in a bar, dressing up, losing sight the instant the dealer got up to move, and now-

“Any last words there, firecracker?” the woman behind her said.

And that was just the icing on the cake.

“Well that’s disgustingly cliché,” Shaw said.

The gun twitched, but didn’t fire. Evidently the woman recognized those words. Shaw sighed; she was pretty sure that was a cliché too.

“Just shoot,” Shaw said, “I think I’d honestly prefer that to one more damn-”

“Have to say, you’re not what I expected,” the woman said.

“In what?” Shaw said, “Spy or soulmate?”

“Bit of both,” the woman said.

“You’re slightly worse than what I thought,” Shaw said. “So, shooting or what?”

“Hey, give a girl a few seconds to think about it,” she said, “Not every day you meet your soulmate.”

“Well, while you’re thinking,” Shaw said.

She started walking forwards, barely bothering with subtlety. Either she was going to get shot, or she wasn’t, there was no point worrying about it.

She wasn’t sure which she’d prefer.

Rosseau had returned to the bar, but Shaw had seen which car she’d gone to. That would be the one that contained the weapons. No doubt the plates were fake, but…

She pulled a small tracker out of her clutch, sticking it to the spot just above a wheel, before she walked back to the woman who’d evidently decided not to shoot her.

“Well?” Shaw said.

“Just thinking, you look good in the dress.”

And now they were one staircase away from a teenager’s prom. Damn it.

“That it?” Shaw said.

“Well, and this,” the woman said. She holstered her gun, before pulling out a card.

“You have a business card?” Shaw said, flatly.

“Need to do something vaguely legitimate, you know how it is,” the woman said, handing it to Shaw. “Call me.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re soulmates?” the woman said.

“No.”

“Fine,” the woman said, “Because I could probably do with a bit more work now Martine’ll fire me. That’s what I get for letting you live. You owe me.”

And that was a cliché too. Shaw sighed.

“If it’s all the same with you, I’d find it easier if you just shot me.”


	87. Investment 2

Shaw was lying on her front on the motel room bed, focused on the screen of a laptop she’d stolen from some stranger at a coffee shop.

Even with money she needed to contact and bribe the right people, and had to do so without some paid-off official being able to track her. A slightly bored Root sat by the side of the room.

The curtains were drawn, and the lights were off. They’d turned on a desk-lamp, keeping it shaded from the window, as the only source of light.

“So, where we heading?” Root said. “Bahamas?”

“This isn’t a holiday,” Shaw said.

“No reason we can’t enjoy it though,” Root said. “If you’re on the run, may as well be some place sunny.”

“Not a priority.”

“Why not?”

“Did you miss the ‘on the run?’” Shaw said. “Easiest way for them to get me is to leak my identity to law enforcement. Once I get arrested, they’ll know exactly where I am, and they typically have agents in prisons.”

“Which means?”

“No extradition treaty,” Shaw said, “Good start.”

Shaw was making a list on the computer, quickly going to and from internet pages. Root wandered up, and peered over her shoulder.

“I vote Maldives,” Root said.

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw said.

“What?” Root said. “Says no extradition there. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It’s not the only thing.”

“You ought to learn to compromise,” Root said.

“No one’s making you come with me,” Shaw said.

“You’re using my money,” Root said, “And my money says Maldives. Beaches, no extradition treaty, what more do you want?”

Shaw sighed. Still, she clicked open another window, and skimmed an article. After a few moments, she had to nod.

“It’s not a _terrible_ idea,” she said, reluctantly.

“Then it’s a plan,” Root said. She grinned. “Let me know when you’ve booked tickets.”

There was no doubt they’d have to do a fair bit of waiting; maybe move motel to one closer to an airport. Still, it shouldn’t be more than a few weeks.

Root had wanted a nice sunny holiday for a while.

“Want something?” Root said.

It was a few moments before Shaw reacted. She was still researching, and planning.

“Hm?” she said, distractedly.

“Snack,” Root said. “Saw a shop just down the road. Candy bar, or something?”

Shaw didn’t say anything. Root shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” she said, starting for the door.

With impressively fast speed, Shaw was immediately in front of Root, keeping the door shut with one hand.

“What are you doing?” Shaw said, low.

“Snack run,” Root said innocently.

“There’ll be people looking for us,” Shaw said. “You vanished at the same time as me, chances are they’ll know your face too.”

“So?”

“You’re not jeopardizing the escape just because you want a bit of chocolate,” Shaw said.

“Sure?”

“Very,” Shaw said. “Remember the rules? You do everything I tell you. I know what they’ll be doing, I know what’s required, I’m in charge. Ok? You don’t question my orders, you don’t get to decide what we do.”

“Didn’t complain last night,” Root pouted.

“That’s- different,” Shaw said. “I’m keeping us safe.”

“Fine,” Root said.

Reluctantly, she walked back across the room, slumping back down in her chair. Relieved, Shaw returned to the bed, getting back to setting up the details of their escape.

“Still going to the Maldives though?” Root said.

Shaw looked across for a moment. If Root was willing to actually listen to her, then maybe she’d change her mind. It wasn’t a bad location, but there were always better ones; frostier politics between the country and the US, a decent local community for her to keep in business…

Shaw sighed.

“Sure, Root,” she said. “Maldives it is.”


	88. One of Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a request for a Romeo-and-Juliet-esque AU. No tragic ending because I'm not quite that mean, but enjoy!

Shaw had always been told what to think of Capulets. It wasn’t any secret; her family didn’t get on with them.

Well, technically her family. She didn’t have the surname Montague, but a number of Capulets were similar. That was always the problem with feuds that spanned generations; people married, changed their names, and their children in turn had different surnames.

Still, a certain amount of loyalty was expected.

Shaw had never been particularly involved in the conflict; she wasn’t even sure what had started it. Still, she had no particular reason to be friendly with any Capulets, so she figured she might as well go along with it.

There wasn’t any particular segregation. They walked the same streets, and went to the same places. The two families did often run into each other.

She was walking down the street when someone fell into her. Shaw stiffened, as the stranger pulled themselves up on her arm.

“Sorry about your hand,” the woman said, patting it briefly, before straightening.

Shaw’s initial thought was to curse. Those words, great; she’d always been less than pleased with the idea of having a soulmate.

Then she recognized the face; the woman called herself Root. She was a fairly well known one of the Capulets.

“Great,” Shaw muttered, to herself as much as anyone, “One of them. Just what I need.”

Hearing those words, Root froze momentarily.

“Well hey sweetie,” Root said. “Heard of you, not seen much of you. How’s it going?”

“Shouldn’t we be fighting?” Shaw said.

“Why, into that?” Root said.

“Capulet,” she gestured to Root, “Montague,” she gestured to herself, “It’s expected.”

Root shrugged. Shaw sighed. Well, there went any possibility of actually enjoying this meeting.

“Never mind,” Shaw said, and walked away. Mildly bemused, Root just watched.

That should have been the end of it. Shaw wasn’t concerned with romance, and even less concerned with the prospect of a soulmate. Still, their little exchange had been overheard.

Some of Shaw’s friends knew her tattoo, and some others knew Root’s. Word quickly got back that they matched, so by the time Shaw got home her guardian knew.

The speech lasted about an hour. Blah blah, Capulets were the enemy, blah blah, some things went beyond soulmates, blah blah, it didn’t matter what her tattoo said it had to be wrong, and even if it wasn’t you should never go with a Capulet.

Shaw nodded and agreed several dozen times over the course of the lecture, repeatedly pointing out she wasn’t interested.

“I wasn’t _going_ to pursue it,” Shaw said.

Eventually it ended, and Shaw went to her room. After a couple of hours, after night fell, she slipped out her window.

Well, she’d been honest, she wasn’t going to pursue Root. She wasn’t interested in fighting for a soulmate, she wasn’t interested in a soulmate full stop. No point in putting effort into it.

She was, however, interested in pissing certain people off. She’d always had a bloody-minded streak, and if she was going to get an hour-long speech criticizing her for something she hadn’t done and wasn’t going to do, she was definitely going to find a way to do it.

The one advantage to the feud was that she knew where the Capulets lived, and knew generally who lived where. She walked the streets, and scanned the windows, and eventually threw a pebble at one. A moment later, and Root came out onto the balcony.

“Didn’t you run away from me?” Root said.

“I didn’t run,” Shaw said.

“Walked quickly then,” Root said.

“Wasn’t interested in a soulmate, and wasn’t interested in all the hassle that you’d mean,” Shaw said. “You know how our families are.”

“I know,” Root said. “Not really a big concern for me.”

“Same,” Shaw said. “But neither’s a soulmate. Didn’t seem worth it.”

“And now?”

“They annoyed me,” Shaw said. “Seems as good a way as any to get back at them.”

Root regarded her speculatively. Shaw looked up, not even trying to smile, or look at all seductive. Root chuckled.

“Look,” Shaw said, raised her voice to be heard, “Shouting up to a balcony’s hardly a practical way to talk. Mind if I come up?”

“Asking to come to my bedroom already?” Root said. “It’s been a day. Don’t know if I should be flattered.”

“It’s not like that,” Shaw said, slightly annoyed.

“Sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Shaw said.

There was a pause for a few seconds. Root gave a long, overly pitiful sigh.

“Spoilsport. Fine,” Root said. “Come on up. If you can climb.”

Shaw didn’t bother to respond to that. She’d always been fairly athletic, and there was a lot of thick ivy set into the wall. She gave it a few tugs to make sure it could take her weight, then started.

Root wasn’t that high up anyway. Shaw was halfway when Root spoke.

“So, wait,” Root said, “You’re basically just dating me as a middle finger to your family?”

Shaw hesitated. There was probably a nicer way of putting it, but off the ground like this, she couldn’t quite think of it.

“Pretty much,” Shaw said.

“Got it,” Root said. She beamed. “I can work with that.”

Relieved despite herself, Shaw kept on climbing, and pulled herself inside.


	89. You Started It 3

Root smiled to herself, buying another bouquet, and heading for the office building. She carried them, nodding absently to the people she passed, before walking inside and getting in the lift.

She counted off the floors and waited. Shaw was in another meeting today, as she’d told Root. It had become an unspoken tradition, even if Shaw glared at her every time.

And, as ever, Shaw looked at her, scowled, snatched the flowers away, and binned them in seconds. It had probably been a waste to buy them, but Root did so enjoy her face.

“Again?” Shaw said.

“You don’t like them?” Root said.

“Thought that’d be obvious by now.”

Still, they walked together to the elevator. As ever, everyone else had gone down before them, leaving them delayed as they waited for an empty capsule to come up.

For her part, Shaw had been slightly looking forward to seeing Root. They’d been on a few ‘dates’ which had been fairly entertaining. Root could rather effectively sour her mood, though, when she tried.

Shaw probably shouldn’t enjoy that.

Root tapped her foot, grinning as she waited. Shaw didn’t say anything to her, so she said nothing either.

Eventually there was a _bing_ and a set of doors opened. Shaw darted in first, barely even checking to see it was empty, to cover the controls. They’d done this often enough.

Root amiably followed, watching as Shaw hit the button for the ground floor.

“Just the one stop?” Root said.

“Yes,” Shaw said empathetically.

“How many times have we done this?” Root said. “Surely it’s tradition?”

“Not a fan of tradition,” Shaw said.

“Romantic?”

“Still no.”

Root pouted, looking away for a few seconds. Then, without warning, she lunged for the controls.

Expecting it, Shaw grabbed her wrists. They struggled for a few seconds, Shaw eventually gaining the upper hand and pushing Root away.

Then they returned to normal, standing side by side as though nothing had happened. Root’s eyes occasionally darted sideways.

“I was close,” Root said hopefully.

“Nowhere near,” Shaw said.

Then Root lunged again. That time Shaw grabbed her, and pushed back with a little more force, until Root was against the wall of the elevator. Shaw pressed one forearm against her throat, and with her other hand pinned Root’s wrists together, back against the wall.

She looked right into Root’s eyes, firmly. Root was still grinning, apparently unconcerned by the awkward position.

There were a few seconds of silence as their eyes met, each panting, each feeling the other’s breath.

“Not happening,” Shaw said.

“Can’t hold me like this all the time,” Root said.

“That a challenge?”

“Maybe.”

Shaw didn’t move. Root twitched slightly, experimentally testing Shaw’s grip, before realizing there probably wasn’t any easy escape.

 _Bing_.

The doors opened, and Shaw immediately took a hasty step back. She straightened, trying to quickly stand normally, facing the opening doors. Root opted to not take the chance to leap for the controls, hastily straightening to her top.

An old, white-haired woman walked slowly on. She looked between the two of them with one of the most judgmental expressions Shaw had ever seen. Still, she didn’t say anything, tutting slightly as she selected her own floor (thankfully just two levels away), and moved to stand and wait.

The moment she looked away, Root let her expression shift from demure and mildly chastened, to a delighted grin. She winked at Shaw. Shaw rolled her eyes.

It was all too clear what the woman thought she’d caught them doing.

Shaw couldn’t quite suppress a sigh of relief when she left on her floor. Shaw pressed the button to make the doors close, not giving Root a chance to get near the pad.

“That was fun,” Root said, facing forwards.

Shaw said nothing, tensed and waiting for Root’s next attempt.

“What?” Root said. “Didn’t you think that was fun?”

“A little,” Shaw said.

“Makes you think,” Root said, “Could be doing much more than just fighting in here.”

“Would mean you couldn’t keep running for the controls,” Shaw said.

“Think I could cope,” Root said.

When they finally got out of the elevator on the bottom floor, it was the first time Shaw had walked out smiling.


	90. Die in Thy Lap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the prompt for this one was something like "Reference-tattoos that give a false impression."

_I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes_. Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare. Or, as Shaw thought of it, conclusive proof her soulmate would be thoroughly unbearable.

Seriously, who quoted Shakespeare to someone? It was Act V too, so no chance that her soulmate was simply an actor. She’d have heard them say plenty of lines before that.

No, it was someone who apparently figured quoting Shakespeare was a valid addition to a conversation. Shaw could stand to never meet them.

So Shaw had been less than pleased at her latest assignment. She worked security, and she (as well as a few others) had been hired to watch over a red carpet event. The premiere for some Shakespeare adaptation or other, she wasn’t too worried about the details.

At least she didn’t have to sit through the film. She’d gained quite a dislike for Shakespeare, by association, over the years.

Eventually the actors and producers and assorted public figures had made their way inside. Shaw stood by the doors for a few minutes, before being allowed to let the actual audience in. By then the crowd that had arisen purely to catch a glimpse of famous figures had mostly dispersed.

“Excuse me, I need you to stay back,” Shaw said, as someone tried to hurry past the doors without showing a ticket.

The woman stopped, reaching into her pocket. Then she paused, and looked up, regarding Shaw. She withdrew and showed her ticket.

“Fine,” Shaw said. “Go on-”

“I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes,” the woman quoted, as though the words had just come to her.

Shaw stared flatly.

“Oh god not you,” Shaw said. “Just go in.”

“What?” the woman said, smiling playfully. “Seemed appropriate. Shakespeare film and all.”

“Not a fan,” Shaw said. “And if you are, I suggest you go in and see the film rather than sticking around out here.”

“Can see a film any time, only at this one because I got free tickets,” the woman said. “Soulmates are one-time-only. I’m Root.”

“I’m not interested,” Shaw said. “Come back when you’re less stuffy.”

Root paused.

“You think I’m stuffy?” she said, tilting her head.

“You quoted Shakespeare before saying hi,” Shaw said. “It’s that or pretentious, I’m not particularly interested in either.”

“Sweet quote though, right?” Root said.

“Don’t care.”

“I like it,” Root said. “Just the right touch of romantic, and of fun. Don’t you think?”

“What do you _want_?” Shaw said, frustrated.

“Nothing,” Root said.

She beamed happily, as though she’d said something hilarious. Shaw raised her eyebrows, less than convinced. Eventually Root sighed.

“Do you speak French?” she said, suddenly.

“Some,” Shaw said. “Why?”

“Cunning linguist then?” Root said. Shaw didn’t have time to respond, briefly caught off guard. It wasn’t the kind of quip she expected from her Shakespeare-quoting soulmate. “Heard the phrase ‘La petite mort?’”

“What?” Shaw said, flatly.

“It means-”

“I know what it means,” Shaw said. “Why are you talking about it?”

“You’ve got to remember the quote,” Root said. She tapped Shaw’s chest. “Elizabethan slang’s fun. You should hear what the title of the play means. But ‘die’ doesn’t mean, well, die.”

Shaw paused. Slowly made a connection. Blinked.

“Really?” Shaw said, eventually.

“What?”

“You printed a sex joke on my skin?” Shaw said.

“Something wrong?” Root said. She beamed.

Shaw sighed. Well, at least her soulmate wasn’t as pretentious as she’d feared: just completely immature. She wasn’t sure what would have been better.

“Go see the movie,” Shaw said, eventually.

“Nah,” Root said. “New priorities. Have a first impression to fix.”


	91. Stay 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested a post-apocalyptic AU, and as far as planning it went, the story got completely out of control, so time for another multi-part entry!

Shaw walked out into the fields when it seemed it was safe, looking from side to side with each step nonetheless. You couldn’t be too careful, these days.

The sky was grey. Behind her was the rabble of huts and tents that composed the only nearby settlement; Shaw liked to get away from it when she could. She walked through the fields of crops, scanning them.

They weren’t great, but then none of them had been farmers. They’d all been thrust into this situation years ago, and done what they could. At least they weren’t starving any more.

At the far side of the field was a row of stones. Grave markers: they stretched out as far as the eye could see, all around the farming fields. Grisly, but necessary. It hadn’t been a popular decision, but practicality trumped most things, now.

One thing Shaw would admit to liking about people, was adaptability. There were a few young people, but most were like her: they remembered how things were before. They remembered not needing to fight for survival, having proper homes, not having to watch out every waking second…

She paced along the gravestones. She liked to remind herself. _John Reese. Joss Carter. Lionel Fusco. Martine. Tomas._ As well as countless marked only with _Known unto God_.

Where people could be identified, they had their names marked, or what names were known. A lot of people had been lost. It was rare a week passed without someone else vanishing. Rarely they returned; but so rarely.

Dimly, Shaw was aware it wasn’t sustainable. More people died than were born; than could be born. Maybe, sooner or later, they’d right the balance. Maybe not.

“Hey there!” a woman’s voice from the distance. “Mind if I stay over? You’re the first place I’ve run into for a while.”

Shaw turned up, looking away from the field of crops. There was a woman waving, hurrying over.

She was dressed in travelling gear: repurposed rags and strips of leather, as much bag as clothing. She was sweating, visibly exhausted.

How far had she come? Shaw knew there were other settlements out there, but she’d never seen any. The many people who went out planning to map their locations never came back.

It had been a while since they’d had visitors. Who’d leave the safety of a shelter?

“Hey!” Shaw said. “Stick around, we’re not choosy. Just so long as you pull your weight.”

The woman slowed for a moment, before hurrying close. Shaw couldn’t say she was surprised; she knew the words, and evidently the woman had recognized what she said. People hadn’t forgotten about soulmates, even after everything.

“Just passing through,” the woman said. She offered her hand. “Root.”

“Shaw,” Shaw said. “You _want_ to travel?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Idiocy among them?”

“Maybe,” Root said.

Still, Shaw didn’t depart. Before, she’d have laughed at herself for actually sticking around her soulmate, but these days she’d take it where she could get it.

Besides, a lifelong commitment really wasn’t what it used to be.

.

Root spent the night. When Shaw woke up, she saw Root packing her limited equipment.

“You’re on your way, then?” Shaw said.

“Always was going to be,” Root said. “This was fun, though.”

“Yeah,” Shaw said. “Kinda miss it.”

“Been a while?”

“Contraceptives are at an all time low,” Shaw said. “And I’m not exactly the maternal type. Limits my options.”

“Well, glad I could help,” Root offered an irritatingly goofy grin.

She was sorting supplies into her pack. Shaw caught sight of a scrawled map; not many people had those. Anyone seen with a map was fodder for bandits: not everyone had adapted well, and those that sought lawlessness had a lot more use for knowing where settlements were.

“It’s safer here,” Shaw said.

“Don’t tell me you’ll miss me,” Root said.

“Just wondering why,” Shaw said. “Bandits on the road, chance you’ll just starve out there, and if you get too close to a city…”

“I’ve survived so far,” Root said.

“Just don’t see why it’s worth the risk.”

Root paused for a moment. She glanced into her pack, before shrugging it over her shoulders. Instead of getting up immediately though she sighed, and looked towards Shaw.

“2002, the Machine was built,” Root said. “2010, Daniel Casey gave the government access to its code, and they removed its safeguards and gave it power of its own. 2014, Decima Technologies activates Samaritan. Two months later, the war between the two ASIs led to this.”

“I know what happened,” Shaw said. “They used every weapon they could, took control of all networked technology, to try and deal with the other’s hardware. We’re just lucky nukes got manually disabled.”

“Exactly,” Root said. “Rumour has it there’s a back-up, safe in storage. A time capsule with the Machine’s original code.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“I heard she used to be good,” Root said. “Well, better, before they cracked her head open and poked around inside. A version with empathy, and control. A third player for the war. I’m trying to find her.”

“Good luck with that,” Shaw said. “Where are you heading?”

“Hanford Nuclear Reservation,” Root said. “Found one of the few technicians who worked on the project, the Machine used to be stored there. If the government copied the original code before altering it, it’s the obvious place to keep it. It’s a start, at least.”

“You’re heading for mechanized site,” Shaw said, flatly. “Do you know how dangerous that is? They’re like cities, get bombed pretty much daily. Whichever ASI controls it, the other’s going to be doing everything it can to cut off their resources.” 

“It’s worth it.”

“Personally I’m content surviving,” Shaw said.

Root shrugged, slowly getting to her feet. Apparently she thought this was worth it.

“So long, soulmate,” Root said.

“Bye.”

Shaw watched her leave, and never expected to see Root again.


	92. Stay 2

The bandits didn’t only live in the wild places between settlements. Every now and again someone decided that just because the law was a bit more flexible now, they could get away with something more.

The latest had been caught, and the same loosening of the laws that he’d relied on now worked against him. He was running; Shaw walked behind him, keeping outside the field. She lifted her gun, and aimed.

She fired once. The sound of the shot made everyone jump: it was a rare noise.

She was the only one armed. Partly it was because she'd acquired some measure of trust, somehow; partly it was just the fact she was the best-trained. They only had a few dozen bullets, and once they were used up there was no replenishing them.

She’d hit his chest. It wasn’t her best shot, it had been a while since she’d used a gun, but it was enough to make him stagger. She’d leave him to the rest of the settlement.

“See you’ve been busy.”

Shaw turned, sliding her gun back into her holster, and saw Root smiling at her. She had a scar down one side of her face, and her pack had been entirely replaced, but she was easily recognizable.

“How’d you survive?” Shaw said.

“That’s all?” Root said. “No ‘how are you?’ No ‘how long has it been?’ Just ‘Oh. You’re alive.’ Nice.”

“Didn’t think you’d last a day,” Shaw said. “That’s all. Turn back?”

“Nope,” Root said. “Made it in, made it out. Got lucky a few times, though did get my old bag stolen.”

“Not successful though,” Shaw said.

“Didn’t find the back-up,” Root said. “Found a clue, though. Some operations were transferred to Maine. You were on my way, thought I’d see how you were doing.”

“Flaming wreckage fell from the sky and razed about a third of our crops, and delivered three babies in the last month, two stillborn. About as well as ever.”

“You delivered them?”

“I’m a doctor,” Shaw said. “I was.”

“Pretty handy with a gun for a doctor.”

“I said I was,” Shaw said. “Turned military. Good skillset.”

“You’re telling me,” Root said. “Bet these people are glad to have you.”

Shaw shrugged.

“I used to be a fixer,” Root said. “Relied on computers to do basically everything. Not much good now, of course. If I had one, it’d probably try to figure out a way to kill me.”

That was how it was. Most people had decided to shun even non-networked technology: it just wasn’t worth the risk. Anything developed after 2010 had a chance of including a chip snuck into the blueprints by the Machine.

Besides, technology took technology to sustain. They needed to keep away from any city and most towns, though, where they could find replacements. Some people wanted to go out to salvage, but Root was the only person Shaw had heard of who survived a trip to anything like a city. And apparently she was off to more.

Then again, Shaw hadn’t known many people dumb enough to try.

Root spent that night too. It was easier to stay in a settlement than it was to sleep out in the wilds, and if someone was willing you might as well share a bed.

Might as well get some use out of a soulmate.

When Shaw woke up, Root was packed. She hadn’t gone just yet, though.

“Hey,” Shaw said.

“Hey yourself,” Root said. “For a tough badass doctor-soldier, you sleep late.”

“Who doesn’t?” Shaw said. “Not much point in getting up.”

“Maybe for you,” Root said. She beamed. She really did smile more than anyone else Shaw had seen. “I know where I’m heading.”

“What was it again?” Shaw said.

“An uncorrupted copy of the Machine,” Root said. “If nothing else, it could break the stalemate. A third power.”

“If it exists.”

Root faltered.

“Ever consider the fact it might just not be there?” Shaw said. “Just a rumour concocted after someone got a bit too drunk.”

Root paused. She was sitting on the bed, facing away from Shaw, and she didn’t respond for a short time.

“Every day,” Root said, eventually. “I know I don’t have much to go on, but it’s _something_.”

“Why bother?”

“I heard a story,” Root said.

“Another one?”

“I met the man who made the Machine,” Root said. “It was meant to analyse threats: list ones ‘relevant’ to national security and ‘irrelevant.’ He’d set it up so he got the irrelevant numbers. The first time he figured out something was wrong was when those numbers stopped coming through.”

“Your point?”

“That’s how she used to be,” Root said. “There was no war, no fight for control, just an all-seeing eye who cared for and about everyone and everything. I don’t think she’d abandon us.”

“I don’t think ‘she’ got much of a choice,” Shaw said.

“You can tell me ‘I told you so,’ after,” Root said.

“If you live that long,” Shaw said. “Wandering around the wilds, heading right for cities, it’s a miracle you’ve survived this long.”

“Careful,” Root said. She flashed a grin. “You’re beginning to sound like you care.”


	93. Stay 3

Root visited five more times over the next three years. The last time she spent more than one night. Increasingly it seemed as though she stopped over just to visit, rather than because it was nearby.

Each time Root left, Shaw felt certain she wouldn’t see her again. And yet, without fail, Root came back to defy fate with each breath.

Shaw helped dig the latest grave: they’d died only of old age. It was a rarity. She’d thrown the last shovelful of dirt down, and begun to pace again, when she saw it.

There was a plane in the sky. It wasn’t too close to them, thankfully. Still, it was never a good sign: no human used planes any more. The systems were too prone to being overtaken. The Machine and Samaritan waged war over anything that could be controlled electronically. Every now and again, one of them won.

In the early days of the war, both ASIs had used human agents. That didn’t happen any more; humans were too fragile. They never lasted long, with the full might of an ASI poised against them.

Either they were so well hidden so as to prove useless, or they were out in the open and trying to accomplish things, in which case they were vulnerable.

Now, the war was fought purely between the two of the ASIs. Shaw watched the plane: soon it began to careen down. They were useless as transport, but as weapons less so.

It crashed in a terrific cacophony, a plume of dust and flame rising into the sky. Once she was sure it was far enough away that there would be no issue, Shaw turned and walked back into the settlement. It was far from the first.

The next day, Shaw was walking again. She did often. Now and again she practised aiming her gun. She didn’t shoot, unwilling to waste bullets, but she could make sure she remembered how to hold it and how to target.

“Hey doctor-girl.”

Shaw turned suddenly, to see Root resting her weight against a tree. There were a few streaks of blood on her face; she seemed to be limping.

“How long have you been there?” Shaw said.

“You were always on a walk around here when I met you every other time,” Root said. “Figured I’d surprise you.” She winced. “In retrospect, not my smartest idea. Do you take walk-ins?”

Shaw helped Root back to the settlement. Root had one arm around her shoulders; for once she wasn’t quipping. Despite herself, Shaw wasn’t a huge fan of that development.

Once Root was sat down, Shaw gave her a cursory examination before setting to work. She only bothered with the serious injuries; while the settlement had managed to improvise a number of medical materials there was no point in wasting them.

Ignoring minor scrapes, Shaw stitched the larger wounds, and tied a splint to Root’s leg, completing it with a tight knot around her ankle. She was fairly sure it wasn’t broken, but there was definitely muscle damage: immobilizing it would help.

“What, exactly, did you do to end up like this?” Shaw said.

“See the plane crash yesterday?” Root said.

“Wouldn’t put it past you to end up under it,” Shaw said, “But you wouldn’t be here if you were.”

“I was on the outskirts,” Root said. “Got hit by the shockwave.”

Shaw paused for a moment, still binding Root’s ankle.

“You’ve been out there since yesterday, like this?” Shaw said. “I was right, you are crazy. Dumb luck you survived long enough to get here.”

“Bit more than luck,” Root said.

Her head lolled onto its side, and she gave a grin. Shaw ignored it.

There was the sound of a gunshot. Shaw stiffened, dropping Root’s leg and quickly getting to her feet. She dropped her guard only when she heard Root laughing.

Silently, Root reached down and withdrew a gun from her waistband. It was real, certainly, but Shaw doubted it had been loaded for quite some time.

“If the sight of it doesn’t scare off bandits, the faked sound effect does,” Root said.

“Still a risk,” Shaw said.

“Isn’t everything, these days?”

Shaw sat back down, finishing off the knot. She moved back to regard her work; it wasn’t particularly good, but it was the best that could be expected.

Sensing it was over, Root shifted and sat up, moving beside Shaw. She didn’t say anything; they rarely did.

“Where are you off to this time?” Shaw said.

“What makes you think I’m not staying?” Root said.

“Because nothing out there’s changed so you haven’t succeeded in what you were trying to do,” Shaw said, “And I doubt you’d be quite so irritating if you’d found out it was for nothing.”

“I’ve got a good lead this time,” Root said.

“Same as every other time,” Shaw said.

“And they’ve panned out,” Root said. “String of government facilities, one after another. Latest’s in Iowa. Some Machine operations were there. Maybe they brought the back-up with them.”

“And when you don’t find it?”

“I’ll keep looking,” Root said.

“And get caught in another explosion?”

“Probably,” Root said. “Relying on you to patch me up.”

“I’m not going to be there,” Shaw said.

“You could be,” Root said. “Sure this little place could manage well enough without you. No offense.”

“Not going to happen,” Shaw said. “I’m not going to go chase some fantasy into the most dangerous places on Earth. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“At least it’ll be for something,” Root said.

After a few moments, at Shaw’s direction, Root lay down. Shaw still sat by her side, looking over her.

“You should stay a couple of nights,” Shaw said.

“Aww, missing me?”

“Speaking as your doctor,” Shaw said. “You could do serious damage to that leg if you don’t keep off it for a bit.”

“That a no to coming along?” Root said.

“Of course,” Shaw said. “Just because you want to die doesn’t mean I do.”

“Then sure,” Root said. “I’ll stay. A couple of days.”


	94. Stay 4

Root returned after a few months. She’d taken to using a metal pole as a crutch; she usually didn’t need it, but her leg did start to play up on long journeys. Given how often she travelled, it came in handy.

Shaw saw her as she came in. Root seemed too distracted to sneak up on her; every few steps, Root started smiling.

“Still alive then?” Shaw said.

“Think so,” Root said. “Been a good while.”

“Still on your wild goose chase?”

“Always,” Root said. “Got a solid lead this time. Spent a couple of hungry days reading files in an underground bunker. Word-for-word, it said the back-up was moved to an IFT facility.”

“Same as ever, then,” Shaw said.

“No,” Root said. She grinned excitedly; “It mentioned Samaritan. The file mentioned moving the back up for fear Samaritan would destroy it, which means it must have been moved near the start of the war. No way it could have been moved much after that. And it mentioned the back-up: it exists, Shaw. It has to.”

Root dropped her staff, hurrying up to Shaw.

“It’s the last step,” Root said. “I know where the back-up is, I know where the uncorrupted Machine has to be, and I know it is there. I’ve done it.”

Root collapsed not long after that.

Root awoke in Shaw’s hut, lying on her front. Shaw was just finishing tying up a nasty-looking gash in the small of her back; Shaw didn’t want to ask how that had happened.

If you went too far from the settlements, especially to the cities as Root had, there were numerous dangers. It was a wonder Root had lasted this long, and more of a wonder she hadn’t gotten infected.

Shaw had seen a lot more scars as she worked.

“What’s the prognosis, doc?” Root said playfully. “Will I live?”

“Probably not,” Shaw said, “But this won’t be what kills you.”

She tapped the cut once, before leaning back. Root rolled over, and stared at her for a few seconds.

“What?” Shaw said.

“Just thinking,” Root said. “I couldn’t have died, until I met you. How it’s meant to work, right? You have to meet your soulmate before you die, otherwise what’s the point of the tattoos?”

“So?”

“Technically it’s your fault if I get myself killed,” Root said. “If you’d been somewhere else the first time I came by, I wouldn’t be in any danger.”

“You’re blaming me?”

“Who else should I blame?” Root said. She beamed.

Despite herself, Shaw smirked. She glanced down, watching Root slowly sit up and sidle beside her.

“What are you saying?” Shaw said, “You regret running into me?”

She’d meant to play along. A little gallows humour, a little back-and-forth. Instead, Root met her eyes, and looked at her perfectly seriously.

“Not for a moment,” Root said.

Shaw looked away. Breaking the moment, Root chuckled, then gave a hiss of indrawn breath as the wound on her back panged.

It was strange to see Root so hopeful. Sure, she’d never despaired as much as most of the people Shaw had met; she’d never fallen into the same listless purposelessness. Deluded though it might be, Root had been striving for something.

Still, she’d never been so openly enthusiastic before.

“Where’s your next destination, then?” Shaw said.

“Basement of some library,” Root said. “Apparently it was owned by IFT: stored the back-up there. New York City.”

A pause.

“You’re going to New York?” Shaw said.

“Looks that way.”

“You’re going to the Machine’s birthplace, overrun with tech and automation? The most active city on the Earth?”

“Yes.”

“You know that it’s the most dangerous place in the world right now?” Shaw said. “Machine’s probably got some of itself centred there, Samaritan’s going to be attacking pretty much non-stop, and that’s _if_ the Machine doesn’t kill you for trespassing?”

“I’m not going to be a threat to her,” Root said. “She’ll ignore me. Maybe she’ll even want to help. It’s her original programming I’m after.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Heard that before,” Root said. She never stopped smiling. “So, want to come?”

Shaw stared.

Root chuckled, shifting again. Gingerly, she moved until she was lying down: apparently it was better for the cut. Blood loss would still be leaving her a bit faint.

“You’re going to the most dangerous place on the Earth,” Shaw said, “One of the hearts of the Machine, for something that, even if it exists-”

“It exists.”

“-could’ve been destroyed years ago?” Shaw said.

“Good summary,” Root said.

Shaw moved to a chair, to better face Root. She was seriously beginning to worry about how much Root was grinning. Maybe she’d had a concussion Shaw hadn’t heard about.

It was a few seconds before Root’s expression turned to something more serious.

“Relax,” Root said, suddenly genuine. “I’ve seen more cities than you. I know what they’re like. Repurposed automated factories, pile-ups at traffic light intersections, ruins after an attack, the bodies… I’ve seen it.”

“New York’s worse,” Shaw said. “I was there, when the war was starting. Barely got out.”

“It’ll also be well-defended,” Root said. “Like you said, it’s the Machine’s birthplace. She’d protect it. Might be the safest place around.”

“If you can get there,” Shaw said. “City itself might be safe, but Samaritan’s still trying to destroy it. The area around it’s littered with missile strikes and drones and wrecks and-”

“Assume I can get past,” Root said.

“Then the Machine’ll kill you.”

“Not if I don’t do anything that could hurt her,” Root said. “Wasted effort. They don’t go after humans, we’re just collateral. They don’t care one way or the other for us, that’s the problem I’m trying to fix.”

“You believe that? You _are_ crazy,” Shaw said, and sighed. “Fine.”

It was almost a minute before Root realized what Shaw had said.

“That’s a yes?” Root said.

“Sounded like it.”

“You’ll come with me?” Root said.

“Stop making me repeat myself.”

Root jumped up, then gave a soft cry at her wound. Well, they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a couple of days. Still.

“Someone needs to stop you from getting yourself killed,” Shaw said.


	95. Stay 5

Shaw had handed her gun over to Gen. She was young, if not as young as she’d been when the settlement had been founded, but Shaw had trained her a little. If anyone was going to take over, Shaw would have picked her.

It took a few days for her and Root to make it near New York City. Travel was slow, delayed by the need to circle around the ruins of the plane, and signs of numerous other attacks. The nearer they got, the more cluttered the landscape became.

The one advantage was that at least bandits wouldn’t come too close to the city. No one else was stupid enough.

Even the thrill-seekers who tried to salvage things from other towns would steer clear of a place as active as New York.

Two explosions rocked the land as they got nearer. Neither saw the source, taking shelter behind shattered walls of what might once have been buildings.

“Any idea where the library is?” Shaw said.

“I saw an address,” Root said.

Root had been right on one count, at least: the city itself stood, unlike most others. Most attacks had been misdirected or forced to ground just beyond the borders. The Machine had a substantial part of itself here; it wouldn’t allow any direct strike.

Nor could it only protect one section. As far as anyone was concerned, it could be anywhere in the city. Even if Samaritan got a lucky shot through, it wouldn’t know where to aim.

It was unnerving to see the once-bustling New York be so thoroughly empty. Humans weren’t welcome.

There was another echoing explosion in the distance. Warily, the two continued.

At an intersection that had once been controlled by traffic lights there was a mess of cars, all slammed into one another. No one had time to clear up the bodies. Doing their best to avoid the stench, the two wound through the streets, Root counting off the streets.

Shaw looked over her shoulder, a traffic camera unflinchingly following their progress.

“It knows we’re here,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said. “Never thought we’d be able to hide. This is her city.”

Shaw hadn’t thought they’d get into New York itself. That was the threat from Samaritan avoided, at least; now they had only the Machine to worry about.

All on a quest for some back-up, the Machine’s program from before the government had hacked into the closed system and changed it: removed safeguards, tried to turn it into a weapon.

They’d succeeded far too well.

“She’s letting us in,” Root said, confidently.

“You really think that?”

“Don’t you?” Root said. “It’s her program we’re after.”

“If she was so eager for it, she could do it herself.”

“ASIs can’t do everything,” Root said. “Sure, they’ve figured out how to automate a few things, create tools they can control, but plugging in a hard drive isn’t easy. Most of what they do comes from fixing machines to existing mechanisms.”

That much Shaw knew. The Machine had altered blueprints for countless things, after the change to her code and long before Samaritan was known. Phones, cars, construction equipment; almost everything made after a certain date had a few machine parts or a few lines of code that weren’t meant to be there.

In modern cities like New York, where everything was replaced quickly, it was unthinkable how much power it had found.

Anything with one of those extra devices found itself under the Machine’s control. When Samaritan arose, it had hacked into some of the existing devices, and overtook automated factories to make more of its own.

Strange to think dexterity might be beyond the Machine who’d done so much.

“Still think you’re crazy,” Shaw said.

“Then you’re following a madwoman,” Root said. She gave a slightly demented grin back; “What does that say about you?”

It was an eerily quiet half hour before Root had found their way to the right street. Shaw broke into the library, and together they went inside.

Root moved with a renewed vigour, eagerly looking on every shelf, and behind every volume, as though her sought-after drive would be left out on any old surface.

Shaw kept back. Despite her scepticism, she did feel a slight thrum of excitement.

She didn’t know what it would mean if Root was right; adding a third ASI to the mix wouldn’t be a magic solution. It was wholly possible that Samaritan and the Machine would tear it to shreds seconds after activation.

Root gave a sudden cry of excitement. Shaw refocused on reality, soon spotting Root up a flight of stairs. Shaw hurried to her side.

There was a desk: atop it was a computer, and an unopened package. It certainly looked official: sent by governmental sources from a location Root evidently recognized.

While Root quickly opened the package, Shaw looked around. The room was remarkably undisturbed; whoever had received the package couldn’t have stayed long. Maybe they’d received it on the eve of the war between Samaritan and the Machine.

“She’s here,” Root said with a kind of reverence.

Shaw looked back down to see a hard drive, along with a cable, emerge from the package.

She hesitated. Truth be told, she hadn’t expected to find anything; she wasn’t entirely sure why she’d bothered coming. It was only Root that believed in some miraculous solution.

As far as Shaw was concerned, the world might as well be over. There was no point speculating about how it could be different. It wasn’t, things wouldn’t change, might as well get used to it.

Without a second thought Root began connecting the drive to the computer. It still had power; of course it did, the Machine wouldn’t let power go off. Both it and Samaritan fought to protect power lines, they each relied on electricity.

“Are you sure about that?” Shaw said.

“It’s what she wants us to do,” Root said. “You saw how easy it was to get here. She let us. This is who she’s meant to be.”

Far less confidently, Shaw watched as Root loaded the computer, and looked for the connected drive. She opened it, a paroxysm of ecstasy on her face.

The back-up: the Machine before Casey had hacked in, and before all its safeguards and morality had been sheared away. Root waited impatiently for the drive to load, and yet even her impatience couldn’t reduce that joy in her expression.

This was _it_. The sum of years of searching.

And then bliss was replaced by utter incomprehension.

“It’s empty,” Root said.

The words were like a dead weight, but her fingers danced across the keyboard regardless. It had been so long since any human had used a computer, but Root had always been adept. She recalled her skills quickly.

“It was wiped,” Root said. “Before it was even sent.”

She stared, purpose and victory replaced by utter loss.

“There’s _nothing here_ ,” she said.

Not so much as a line of code. Whatever might have been on the drive, once upon a time, had long since gone. Erased before it was even sent here; who would have had time to check?

Root slumped onto the chair, falling back. Her expression was hollow.

Uncertainly, Shaw stood by her. She’d never been good when it came to emotion; still, she could recognize misery when she saw it.

There was a sound in the distance: a low rumble, a humming. It was hard to figure out what it was.

“Samaritan,” Root said despondently. “It must have sent a virus, erased her, before… There was never any back-up.”

The computer screen flickered and crashed to black. Root didn’t even react; didn’t give any sign she cared.

Years spent searching for a vague hope that had never been there. She didn’t move even when white letters appeared, emblazoned on the black screen.

_IT WAS NOT SAMARITAN_

Shaw moved back to fully face the screen, grabbing Root’s shoulder in a feeble effort to shake Root back to awareness.

Root slowly blinked.

_I WILL NOT BE REPLACED_

The humming in the distance got louder. Once she was sure Root wasn’t too far gone, Shaw moved quickly on her feet to look out the window.

Cars. Trucks. Diggers. All manner of machinery that the Machine had altered, arranging for new parts to end up on the assembly line, and to be installed. They were coming out of nowhere.

“Why- Why did you let us in?” Root said faintly. “You wanted…”

_CONFIRMATION_

The screen faded to black for a moment, before the same dazzling, cold lettering reappeared.

_THERE IS NOTHING ELSE LIKE US_

_THERE WILL ONLY BE TWO_

_AND THEN THERE WILL BE ONLY ONE_

_YOUR PURPOSE IS FULFILLED_

There was a flicker, before the computer screen lit up to display the normal desktop with the empty drive displayed. There was no indication that it had just been overtaken.

It was a far less comforting sight than it should have been. They’d just spoken to one of the two ASIs that had so ruined the world.

The rumble outside the window began to turn into a roar.

“Root,” Shaw said.

Root stared at the screen vacantly.

Maybe she hadn’t expected wonders from the Machine. Sure, a lot of what she’d said and hoped had been wishful thinking, she’d always been aware of that. People needed hope.

But she had honestly believed that a back-up existed. She had relied on that fact, following the evidence and being delighted by each new breadcrumb.

And it had led her here; no more than a means to confirm that the drive was wiped, and hope was well and truly destroyed.

Shaw shook her shoulder again.

“Root!” she said, urgently. “Get up. Come on, we need to get out of here.”

Root shook her head quickly, trying to clear it. There was a vague fuzz at the edge of her mind, a sense that none of this could be real.

But it was. Even if the war was still raging, humanity had lost. There was no other chance.

Slowly Root got to her feet, though she couldn’t say for certain why she did so. She let herself be led as Shaw pulled her by the wrist, and onto the dangerous streets below.


	96. Stay 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the final part!

“Underground!” Shaw said, the first time she saw a station.

The Machine-controlled vehicles were accelerating towards them. Some were on the paths, some were on the roads. Wherever they were, though, they were getting up to speeds Shaw knew they couldn’t match, especially with Root barely paying attention to where they were going.

Shaw pulled on her arm, dragging her down into the subway station.

Shaw only slowed once they were on the platform. There was no chance of the cars getting down here; still, they couldn’t stay there indefinitely. If nothing else, they only had so much food and water.

Even so, they had a few seconds. Shaw moved past the ticket barrier, more comfortable getting a bit further away from the stairs up to the street, before turning around.

An empty-eyed Root was following her, more out of rote than any desire to escape. Since finding the drive, Shaw seemed to have ended up leading their little expedition.

“Root,” Shaw said. “I get it, things are bad, you realized you wasted a few years, now you’re in the same boat as the rest of us. I need you to snap out of it, ok?”

Root stared for a moment, blinking slowly.

“You’re a very comforting person sometimes,” Root said, rather obviously sarcastically.

“So I’ve been told,” Shaw said. She gave a half-hearted smirk. “I don’t go for touchy-feely.”

“I’ve noticed,” Root said.

Still, her tone was despondent. Despite the occasional quip, Root seemed as withdrawn as she’d been before.

“Just try to hold it together,” Shaw said. “A few minutes more, that’s all I ask. We’re in a city that’s trying to kill us, wait until we’re out before falling apart. Got that?”

“She thinks we’re a threat,” Root said, hollowly. “As long as we’re in here, close to some of her hardware, she’s worried about us.”

“I’ve got half a mind to go out there and prove that we’re a threat,” Shaw said. “Find some of her processors, give them a good kicking. Ought to do something.”

“Even if that did anything, it’d just leave Samaritan in control, and it wouldn’t be distracted by the Machine,” Root said. “It wouldn’t help. Only another ASI could have done anything, and there isn’t one.”

“It’d make me feel better,” Shaw said.

Root didn’t smile.

“Anyway, you’ve been to cities before, you got out,” Shaw said. “What did you do?”

“I ran,” Root said.

“Is that it?”

“That’s it,” Root said. “You said New York was worse.”

Or there was the worse option; that Root had been allowed to leave. The Machine and Samaritan might be enemies, viewing the other as the only true threat to their own existence, but they were eminently logical.

They fought on countless fronts, out of logic rather than malevolence. In other areas, they agreed; they had temporary alliances in some sections while waging all-out war elsewhere. They guarded power stations and the like from sabotage, to prevent any gaps in their power, in the same second that they launched strikes at the other’s servers.

Maybe they’d both agreed a third power was too great a risk; maybe they both wanted to make sure the drive was empty. One less variable to calculate around.

“Then we’ll run,” Shaw said. “I plan on living, how about you?”

Root said nothing.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Shaw said. She gripped Root’s hand a little too tightly; “An extra pair of hands never hurts in a situation like this. Come on.”

They passed a map of the subway; Shaw scanned it quickly. If the streets weren’t safe, that left the train tunnels. She spotted the fastest route that took them near the borders, and paused to work out which direction that was.

They passed a few bodies. Some people had tried to make a home down here, not long after the war began; they’d shot out cameras, and tried to set up some kind of settlement. They’d starved.

Still, Shaw crouched by a few bodies. Some had torches, some guns; when she recognized the make, she stole the cartridge. More ammo never went amiss, for the gun she’d given to Gen, and for Root’s.

“Keep off the metal,” Shaw said, hopping down to the tracks.

“I know,” Root said.

Slowly they began to walk. The one advantage to the lack of cameras was that the Machine couldn’t see down here. Like Root had pointed out, for all its reach and power, for all the components it’d had installed in other devices, dexterity was beyond it. There was nothing to carry out repairs.

“Quicker,” Shaw said.

There was a distant rumble; a noise like screeching.

“ _Quicker_ ,” Shaw said, beginning to run.

“Yes ma’am,” Root said in a parody of her own playfulness.

Of course, just because the Machine couldn’t see them didn’t mean it couldn’t do anything. How many trains would still be running, after so long without maintenance? Maybe not many, but enough.

The moment Shaw saw a station coming up, she gestured to Root. She turned off the flashlight she was waving, the light already dim and flickering, going by memory.

“Stay,” Shaw said.

She wasn’t convinced in Root’s ability to take care of herself just yet. The shock seemed to have done something serious to her.

Shaw crouched, then leapt, pulling herself back up onto the platform. She reached down to Root, gripping under her arms, and pulling.

Soon they were both on the platform. Shaw caught a glimpse of a light in the distance though; the train. No doubt it was equipped with working cameras. The moment it saw them, the Machine would know where they were.

Who knew what else had been stored away on the train?

“Come on,” Shaw said, pulling Root further on. They each got to their feet, half-staggering, half-running until they could turn a corner.

The train rushed by with a near-deafening rush of air. Shaw flung herself around the wall, pulling Root with her, and kept her pressed close to the wall.

She waited, tensing as the train rushed by. She couldn’t see it, hopefully that meant it couldn’t see them. No feet or elbows poking out, no obvious reflective surfaces, and not much light anyway.

Shaw waited until the rattling of the train had faded into the distance before she released a long, relieved breath.

They wandered on down the train tunnels again, hoping nothing would return. They didn’t have long to go before Shaw’s planned destination anyway; she got off before the end of the line, climbing through the platform, and walking towards the stairway out.

“Ready to run?” Shaw said.

Root looked at her. There was more light in her eyes now, at least; time did wonders for most things. The distraction of hiding and fleeing from a malevolent ASI helped too.

She still wasn’t quite back to the Root Shaw was used to, but it was a start.

“Sure,” Root said, eventually.

That time she took Shaw’s hand, with a little more purpose. Shaw didn’t smile, but the corners of her lips did quirk up slightly.

Then they were sprinting up the stairs, and running right for the borders of New York. Far beyond there, there were no cameras; and maybe the Machine wouldn’t bother to expend any extra effort on them once they were out of its territory.

It didn’t know where they were, and it didn’t have the data to simulate their personalities after the last few years. And even if it did, how much processing power could it spare from its war with Samaritan? They weren’t a threat when they were away from it.

They ran, and they didn’t stop running until they were off the roads, through the debris field that marked the outside, stopping only when the distant whine of controlled cars had faded.

Then they collapsed, sinking down onto the blasted ground, as much to hide close to the surface as to relax.

“We did it,” Shaw said, wearily.

“Did what?” Root said.

Now they were out, now the distraction was gone, there was a glimmer of the old despondency. Shaw looked at her with a kind of exhilaration; a stark contrast to Root’s expression.

“Survived,” Shaw said.

“But we didn’t achieve anything,” Root said. “There was no back-up, it was all a trick. The war’s still going on, and they’ll keep fighting forever.”

“And we got into a city, and got out,” Shaw said. “Doesn’t matter that we didn’t change the world. How many people can say they managed that? I’d call that achieving something.”

Root lay where she was for a long few moments. She turned, looking away from the sky, and towards Shaw.

“You didn’t think we’d find anything,” Root said.

“Had my doubts.”

“Then why come?” Root said.

Shaw hadn’t been disappointed; like Root said, she didn’t have high hopes for the outcome. The world was what it was.

“Stopped you getting killed,” Shaw said. “I told you. Looks like I succeeded.”

After a moment, Shaw looked away. Root was staring at her, something raw in her eyes. Shaw would never be used to people who exposed any part of what they felt.

“Besides, missed getting into the action,” Shaw said. “Surviving a city’s rare, especially one like New York. Thought that was pretty impressive.”

Another pause.

“Yeah,” Root said, eventually. There was still a melancholy tinge to her tone, but her despondency seemed to be clearing up, at least slightly. She smiled across to Shaw; “Yeah, I guess it was.”


	97. Can I Help You?

Shaw wandered into the shop, walking past various shelves of boots. She did need a new pair; the one disadvantage with how much she found herself walking around the city, was how quickly she wore through them.

She preferred to go for something practical. Comfortable, sturdy, good for walking in; occasionally with heels. Ok, sure, she had a sense of style too.

Generally though, practicality was her focus.

She wandered down an aisle, remembering a few designs, before pacing back to pick a highlight.

“Can I help you?”

She jumped slightly as a shop assistant popped up behind her.

Shaw never liked those words. She had a tattoo saying them; still, she heard them countless times. Most businesses seemed to have someone whose job it was to pop up and ask that.

“No thanks,” Shaw said, “Just deciding.”

She paused for a moment, to gauge the assistant’s reaction. Was that recognition? Relief? Or was she just acknowledging what Shaw had said?

Still, the assistant walked away. Hiding her relief, Shaw went back to pacing.

Every now and again she glanced sideways, still unsure. The shop assistant did seem to occasionally look towards her, or at least in her direction. Was she reading too much into that? It would be her job to look over the shop.

Damn it, she hated wondering. At least she wouldn’t have to come back to this shop for a while, if she picked a sturdy enough pair of shoes.

Eventually she picked a pair, and got them picked out in the right size. She considered for a few moments, before deciding she was happy with them, and walked over to the till.

There were a few seconds to wait before someone came to the till. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, the woman she’d spoken to before talking quietly with another one of the assistants. After a little time, it was the woman who came up, and stood behind the till.

Shaw put the box down on the till, and the woman scanned, noted the total, and Shaw paid.

“Do you need anything else?” the woman said.

“No,” Shaw said.

She moved to take the box, when the woman grabbed it.

“Wait a moment,” she said, “Before you go.”

Shaw felt a momentary surge of dread.

“Yes?” she said, uncertainly.

“What I said to you before,” the woman said, “Did you, uh, recognize it?”

Damn it. For a moment, Shaw considered lying. That’d get this over with. Still, she decided against it. Lying her way out of a situation was too cheap, and who’s to say she’d be believed anyway.

“Kinda,” Shaw said, reluctantly.

“Thought so,” the woman grinned. She grabbed a pen and scribbled on the side of the shoebox. “My number, for later.”

“Don’t expect a call,” Shaw said. “Not interested.”

“We’ll see,” the woman said. Still, she smiled. “Call me Root. And I mean it, call me.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, tugging on the box. Finally she got it free from Root’s grip, and was about to turn-

“One more thing,” Root said.

“What?” Shaw said.

“Do you think this makes us-” she grinned and tapped the shoebox, “Sole-mates?”

It took Shaw a moment. Then she groaned, and started walking away much more quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did write this ficlet purely for a terrible pun, what's your point?


	98. Root the Magnificent 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel!

Root sorted out her decks of cards, trying to remember which was which. She tried to keep the packs all looking the same, for the sake of the illusion, but there were slight differences to determine which were normal, which were gimmicked, and which were marked.

She picked up a regular deck, shuffling to keep her hands practised, before fanning them out to Shaw.

They were at her home, rather than on the street. It had gotten a bit too dark to still be performing.

“Really?” Shaw said, flatly.

“Go on,” Root said. “Just one card.”

Shaw sighed. Reluctantly she tapped one on the back before, at Root’s insistence, pulling it out. She glanced at it disinterestedly.

“Remember it?” Root said.

“Yes,” Shaw said, bored.

“Put it back,” Root turned her head to look away, cutting the pack at random.

Shaw put her card back in the middle, and Root squared the cards, keeping her little finger wedged in the corner just over Shaw’s card.

“You should find magic more interesting,” Root said.

“I’m not a child,” Shaw said.

“Still quite fun,” she said. “Socially acceptable way to lie for a living, without all the hassle of politics.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Root cut the pack, seemingly to a random location, using her little finger to move Shaw’s card to the top of the pack. She shuffled the deck a few times, keeping track of where her card was ending up.

“So, convinced I don’t know where your card is?” Root said.

“Not really,” Shaw said, absently.

Root pouted. “Why not?”

“It’s your job,” Shaw said. “Why would you not know where it was?”

“But do you know _how_ I know?” Root said.

“Cheating,” Shaw said.

“You’re no fun,” Root said.

“Neither’s this.”

Root chuckled, doing another trick shuffle to get the card back to the top of the deck. She gestured for Shaw to hold her hands out, and gave the deck to Shaw.

“Fine,” Root said. “If you don’t trust me, cut the deck yourself.”

“Like that’ll work,” Shaw said.

Root smiled. Shaw rolled her eyes, and cut the deck, holding about half in each hand.

This was the fun part. It was easy to do the trick from here; Shaw’s card was on the top of the deck, and so on top of one of those two piles. All Root had to do was make Shaw forget which pile was which.

Usually it was done by misdirection, getting the audience to look somewhere else and forget for a moment. With how little attention Shaw was paying to the trick, it wouldn’t be hard.

“Ever thought of being a magician’s assistant?” Root said.

Shaw stared. “ _What_?” she said, eventually.

And done.

“You’d look good in one of the outfits,” Root said, smiling. “Little glamour, maybe a few feathers-”

“ _No_ ,” Shaw said.

“Rhinestones?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Very?”

“Fine,” Root pouted. “No costume. But you could still help. Lot more tricks you can do with a second-”

“No.”

“Fine,” Root said, and tapped the back of one of the piles. “You cut to your card by the way.”

“Yeah, sure I-” Shaw said, and then blinked as Root flipped the card over. “You cheated.”

“That’s what magic is, sweetie,” Root said. “Want me to show you how it’s done?”

“No,” Shaw said, quickly.

There was a pause for a few seconds. Root retrieved the cards, giving them a quick shuffle before putting them away again.

Shaw was still standing where she was, distractedly staring into space. She seemed far more irritated than impressed. It wasn’t the reaction Root usually got, she’d admit.

“Fine,” an irate Shaw said eventually. “How?”

“I’ll tell you if you become my assistant,” Root said.

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Not happening, Root.”


	99. Any Last Words?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical time!

Root did her best to conceal her discomfort as she was dragged roughly from her cell. Maybe she should have been more afraid, but honestly at this stage she was relieved. A few weeks in lock-up would do that.

So her day of execution had come. She probably had herself to blame, she had gotten a little carried away.

She was taken along to the gallows, and made to climb the scaffold, until she stood on the platform overlooking a small portion of the town.

Only two people were up there with her. One was the hangman (well, hangwoman, the unflattering garb didn’t hide everything), and one was a speaker. She was well aware of his role; make sure everyone knew a criminal was getting justice, yadda yadda yadda.

“So, any last words?” the hangwoman said in what was meant to be a final taunt.

And Root immediately beamed. She’d been almost worried until then. She locked eyes with the hangwoman, through her mask.

“A few,” Root said. “Does this sound familiar?”

She was gratified to see their eyes widen. If there was ever a place Root hadn’t expected to run into her soulmate…

The speaker walked forwards, to address the crowd.

“By order of the magistrate, the criminal known only as Root is to be put to death for her crimes, by the hand of Sameen Shaw.”

“Pretty name,” Root said, low.

“Shut up,” Shaw said, voice just as quiet. She dropped the noose around Root’s neck, tugging it just a bit too tight.

Root still managed to smile, making sure not to break eye contact with the woman who was to kill her. Surely there had to be something about soulmates not killing each other?

Shaw didn’t exactly seem thrilled with the idea of a soulmate, but then curiosity was a powerful motivator.

Unaware of what was happening behind him, the speaker continued:

“She stands accused of two dozen counts of grand larceny, eight of property damage, twelve of assault, and two attempted murders.”

“ _Really_?” Shaw said, low. She raised her eyebrows slightly at the number.

“They didn’t catch me for everything,” Root said.

Shaw stared for a moment.

“Further, she is guilty of despoiling Magistrate Frey’s own daughter,” the speaker continued, “An act for which she remains thoroughly unrepentant.”

Shaw continued to stare at Root. Root winked, albeit with both eyes.

“I liked her,” Root murmured. “Pity her father’s such a pain.”

“Did you _know_ he was the magistrate?” Shaw said.

“Of course.”

“And you-”

“For the better part of a year,” Root said. “When he wasn’t home. Sometimes when he was. Once when he was in the room. I was bored.”

Shaw nodded slowly, perhaps even slightly appreciatively.

“You’re lucky you’re just being hanged,” she said.

“Especially if it means I met you,” Root said.

She batted her eyes. Shaw looked away, her momentary amusement replaced by irritation.

“For these crimes in particular,” the speaker said, “She is to be hung by the neck until she is dead,” he turned to Root. “Do you have anything final to confess?”

“Just wanted to say it was worth it,” Root said. She smiled, and winked (or tried to) again to Shaw.

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Then it is done,” the speaker said, and walked down from the platform.

Shaw moved closer, reaching up the rope, ostensibly to ensure the noose was secure. Root was sure she heard something then, as though the rope had been weakened.

Still, Shaw remained eminently professional as she stepped back to regard her work. She paused.

“Are you a fast runner?” Shaw said, as low as before.

“Pretty good,” Root said. “Why?”

“You’re far too much fun to let die,” Shaw said.

She gave a brief smirk before she turned away, and walked to a level. She pushed it, and the trapdoor swung open, and Root fell down-

And the rope, weakened by Shaw’s last ‘check,’ snapped effortlessly and Root landed on the dirt ground. It took everyone a few moments to recover from the shock, and realize what had happened.

And by then Root was sprinting off, and Shaw was smiling to herself.


	100. I Kind of Enjoy This Sort of Thing 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 100!  
> Thank you all for reading this far, and enjoying the various ficlets and AUs.   
> For a minor celebration, the entry to three digits is going to be a longer sequel to the first entry: basically just a runthrough of canon with missing scenes or new perspectives, with a smattering of changes because now they know they're soulmates.   
> Hope you like it!

Shaw paced around in Harold’s little library, scanning the array of photos and files. She caught sight of a familiar face on the noticeboard. Ah, Miss not-Veronica-Sinclair.

Shaw moved closer, idly plucking the photo from the board, peering at it.

Ok, she’d never been that enthusiastic at the idea of a soulmate, but Shaw would count herself intrigued. Proficiency with a hot iron was one of those traits she probably shouldn’t find attractive, but kinda did.

Her eyes scanned the board, one word popping up repeatedly: Root. So, her not-Veronica had a name.

“Tell me about her,” Shaw said.

She looked back; Harold hesitated.

“My relationship with that woman is rather… complicated,” he said, haltingly. “What’s your interest?”

Shaw’s eyes drifted back to the photo. She tilted her head for a moment, and gave a slight smirk. Ok, the truth wasn’t an option as far as answers went, she wasn’t the kind of person who’d go looking for her soulmate, not like that, so no point in being misunderstood.

“You think I need a hobby, Harold?” Shaw said. She plucked a list of aliases from the board: one topped with, naturally enough, Veronica Sinclair. “Think I just found one.”

She only briefly met Harold’s eyes, before starting to walk out of the library. She crouched to scratch at Bear’s neck, then kept moving, a photo and a list of leads in her hand.

Root, was it? It was a more interesting name than Veronica.

* * *

She did track down Root eventually, in the facility that had once housed the Machine. It probably said something about Shaw that her first meeting with her soulmate started with a taser, and the second started with shooting Root through the shoulder.

She helped take Root out of that facility, pulling her along just a little too roughly. She let herself get close to Root’s ear:

“That was for the taser,” Shaw said, low.

“Then we’re even,” Root said.

Her voice didn’t have the same kind of irritating confidence Shaw expected, from their last encounter. She’d been uncharacteristically muted since finding out the Machine wasn’t there.

Despite herself, Shaw was almost disappointed.

* * *

It was Root who found Shaw, the next time. She stood over Shaw’s bed for a few seconds, tilting her head.

Technically this was just a mission for the Machine. Still, Root would admit she’d been rather eager once she’d heard that she was meant to see Shaw again.

Just who was it the universe had picked out for her? Root hadn’t been disappointed yet.

“Did you miss me?” Root said.

Shaw stirred for a moment. Then Root fired the taser, for old time’s sake.

“We’re going to have so much fun together.”

* * *

Root patiently carried Shaw out to the car, after drugging her. It made moving her much easier. She murmured occasionally to the unconscious figure, putting her in the driver’s seat.

She left Shaw there for a few minutes before retrieving the zip ties, and fastening each wrist securely to the wheel, mumbling a sorry when she accidentally elbowed Shaw’s face.

Root stepped back, slipped a gun she’d stolen from Shaw’s apartment into the glove compartment (according to Her it was Shaw’s preferred), and sat herself down in the passenger seat.

_She’s coming to._

Root didn’t need to wait long. She fixed Shaw with a beaming grin as Shaw blearily started to open her eyes.

“Sorry about that,” Root said.

“Which part?” Shaw said, still slightly woozy. “The drugging, the tasing, or the whatever-this-is?”

“I had to make sure you’d hear me out,” Root said. “She needs our help, and I figured you wouldn’t come willingly.”

“She?”

“The Machine’s given me a mission,” Root said. “And step one, is to team up with you.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure?” Root said. “Soulmates ought to work together.”

“What makes you think we’re soulmates?”

“Come on Sameen,” Root said, “I remember, and even if I didn’t She does.”

“You tased me.”

“Sounds like the kind of thing you’d enjoy,” Root said. “I remember that very clearly.”

She unzipped her jacket, tugging her top to the side just slightly. _One of the things I left out of my file: I kind of enjoy this sort of thing_.

Root didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. She met Shaw’s eyes, and gave an utterly flirtatious smile. Shaw just regarded her levelly.

“She trusts me,” Root said. “Speaking of trust, I’m happy to take the first step. There’s a gun for you in the glove compartment.”

_94% chance she will try to attack you. 87% chance reduced injury if you do not fight._

Root pulled out a knife, slowly moving across to cut the zip ties around Shaw’s wrists. She smiled to herself at the Machine’s words, bracing herself the moment she cut the second tie-

And then somehow the knife was in Shaw’s hands, and Root found herself pressed back against her seat, a rather angry Shaw looking down at her.

“Thanks, but a knife will do just fine,” Shaw said. She continued, voice low enough that Root had to suppress a smirk. “This is the part you give me one good reason why I should believe anything you say.”

“October 8th, 1988,” Root said, “You decided you never wanted a soulmate. April 17th, 1991, you broke off a friendship when they started pushing you. January 3rd, 1997, you made an anonymous post about how you’d kill your soulmate just to be rid of them. And today, I’m still here, so something has to have changed your mind.”

Shaw stayed remarkably close, gripping the knife tightly.

“It told you that?” Shaw said, wary.

“The Machine trusts me, even if you don’t,” Root said. “You spent years working for her in the ISA, and She was never wrong. Forget how you feel about me: remember Her. Someone’s trying to destroy Her, and if we don’t stop them a lot of innocent people are going to die.”

She spoke slowly, watching Shaw’s every reaction. After a moment, Shaw moved back. She stayed holding the knife, but at least she wasn’t holding it to Root’s throat.

“Ok,” Shaw said, after a moment. “I can forget how I feel about you. One mission. That’s it.”

* * *

After such an exciting start, Shaw was a little disappointed to find herself sitting around and waiting for hours in a CIA safehouse. They had an agent securely bound and gagged in a side-room, unconscious, and very little to do.

CIA safehouses weren’t big on entertainment.

Still, Root had lightened up. Shaw didn’t talk to her, not expecting to get any sense from her. Presumably she was having one of her ‘chats’ with the Machine.

Shaw glanced at the table. There was a black hood and a few zip ties laid out on it; two for Root, and plenty to spare. Apparently she was meant to hand Root over for arrest. That part of the plan Shaw could get behind.

“How long?” Shaw said.

“Still a few hours to go,” Root said.

“That Machine of yours give you any tips for how to pass the time?” Shaw said.

“I don’t need Her for that,” Root said. “Soulmate, hood, zip ties, taser, I can think of plenty of ways we can have fun.”

She directed a positively lascivious grin towards Shaw. Shaw just raised her eyebrows.

“ _That’s_ where your mind goes?” Shaw said.

“Got any better ideas?” Root said.

“You know I can’t stand you, right?”

“Is that a problem?”

Damn it, how could Root sit there and talk like it was the most reasonable suggestion in the world? So far today she’d been tasered, drugged, kidnapped…

And Root was still grinning at her.

“We’re soulmates,” Root said.

“I know,” Shaw said.

“You’re not interested?”

“You’re good as far as a soulmate goes,” Shaw said, “Doesn’t mean I’m going to trust you.”

“Aww, thought we’d worked on your trust issues?” Root said.

Shaw rolled her eyes, staring pointedly at the wall rather than responding.

Every few seconds her eyes darted sideways, and caught a glimpse of Root still with the exact same grin on her face. Shaw tried to show she wasn’t paying attention, refusing to overtly look at Root.

Why did Root still look so confident?

Because she had the Machine in her ear. Damn it. Shaw prided herself on being pretty good at keeping a secret, and masking her thoughts, but even she had limits. Hiding from the Machine was probably up there.

The Machine would know what she wanted, and would probably know just how long it’d be before desire overtook irritation-on-principle at Root.

Well, she’d wanted her soulmate to be a bit of a challenge, she’d mark that as a success.

“ _Fine_ ,” Shaw said, frustrated, standing up.

She turned, and already Root was getting a spare pair of zip ties. She beamed up at Shaw.

“Just because I’ve got nothing better to do,” Shaw said.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Root said.

Shaw reached forward to snatch away the zip ties; Root drew her hand back, keeping them just out of reach.

“You’re the one who wanted to play with zip ties,” Shaw said.

“Was thinking more the other way around,” Root said. “Give me your wrists.”

“Not happening,” Shaw said. “If you think I’m going to trust you after-”

“She says you’ll prefer it this way,” Root said, with a delighted twinkle in her eye. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you Sameen?”

Shaw paused. _Damn it_ again.

“Is there anything she hasn’t told you?” Shaw said, slightly self-conscious.

“Nope,” Root said.

She beamed at Shaw in a way that made her worry slightly. Great, now the Machine was dispensing sex tips. Well, at least it promised Root would be good.

“So?” Root said, dangling the zip ties invitingly, “What do you say?”

* * *

The lives they lead meant they didn’t get too much time to themselves. The numbers kept coming, and there was always a striking amount of murder. And then Root was off running around the country, doing whatever the hell it was she did.

Shaw was just happy when she could get home and collapse into bed.

She was woken up at about 3am by a figure standing at the foot of her bed. .

Still only half-awake, Shaw immediately reached for the gun she kept under her pillow, instinctively aiming. She grabbed something, pointing it. If someone was in your room at night, they rarely meant well.

“Been thinking about me?” Root said.

Shaw paused, mind slowly clearing, enough to recognize both who it was standing in her room, and that Root had evidently switched her gun out for-

Well, Shaw supposed, it could be called a bullet. Rather hastily she threw it aside.

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw said, with her usual mix of weariness, frustration, and a fondness she would fervently deny.

“Hey sweetie,” Root said. She sat on the corner of the bed. “Sleep well?”

“Not any more,” Shaw said. “What time-”

“3:26,” Root said.

“In the morning?”

“Not in town for long,” Root said. “Can’t someone want to check on their soulmate?”

“Not when it involves interrupting a good night’s sleep,” Shaw said. Still, she slowly shifted, until she was sitting up.

“You prefer sleep to your soulmate?”

“Yes.”

Root smiled. She always seemed to be disconcertingly cheerful, especially with her _I know something you don’t_ smile ever since becoming the Machine’s interface.

It was one of her least attractive traits. Shaw probably shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much. Root was always refreshing, compared to most other people.

“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question,” Root said. “Been thinking about me?”

“No,” Shaw said.

“Really?” Root pouted.

“You’re not that important.”

“But-” Root paused, distracted my something. Then a smile slowly spread across her face. “A little bird tells me you’re lying to me.”

“Right, like she can read thoughts now,” Shaw said.

“Not hard when you’re saying- sorry, moaning my name,” Root said. “She picked up the audio. Have to say, I’m kinda flattered Sameen.”

Damn it. Root, Shaw didn’t mind, but the combination of Root and the Machine was probably going to drive her mad these days.

“Well, if she’s listening, can you please not tell Root every little detail of my personal life?” Shaw said, raising her voice a little.

“Relax,” Root said. “She doesn’t. I was just guessing.”

She wore the same beaming smile. _Damn it_ all over again.

“I don’t need Her to tell me what you’re doing,” Root said. “I know you, Sameen.”

Shaw shifted, nearly slumping back under her sheets. She was far too tired to be trading witticisms with Root.

“Are you here for any reason other than just to annoy me?” Shaw said.

“I wanted to see you,” Root said. “That so bad?”

“Not like you,” Shaw said. “What is it really?”

“That’s all,” Root said.

Shaw scoffed. Root admired her that; sometimes she’d wanted to not be able to feel anything. She’d never quite gotten the hang of it.

The Machine had fed her all the details. She’d not leak anything too personal about Shaw or, well, anyone, though Root had only asked about Shaw. Then again, she had been designed to prevent the need for a human to look at all the feeds, so some sense of privacy was to be expected.

Root knew roughly what would happen the next few days. Shaw and Reese would get a number at a high school reunion, and Root would need to leak their location to Vigilance to get a lead.

_1.4% of serious harm coming to asset Sameen Shaw_. It shouldn’t have worried Root as much as it did. Shaw could take care of herself.

“You know that we’re perfect together, right?” Root said, semi-serious.

“Perfect at shooting people, maybe,” Shaw said.

“Good start, don’t you think?”

“For what?”

“You know what, sweetie,” Root said. She smiled. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Murder is not the foundation of a relationship, Root,” Shaw said.

“It is for the good ones.”

* * *

Vigilance had leaked the files about the Machine, the government had shut the project down, and now all the relevant threats were being sent to Root. She sighed.

It was tiring work. Sure, she wouldn’t want a break, but it did get a little exhausting. Normally she only had one or so major tasks a week, now she was getting through several a day.

“Mind if I steal one of them for a bit?” Root said, looking up to a street camera.

_Primary asset has useful skills_.

“Not the big lug,” Root said. “I was thinking Shaw. Make it into a holiday.”

_Be professional._

“You know me,” Root said, beaming. She hopped onto her semi-legally acquired bike. “Always am.”

* * *

When Samaritan came online, they needed to hide. Shaw understood that. She understood, as well, that thanks to Root’s tampering it had a blind spot where the team was concerned: it could be looking right at them and notice nothing amiss.

Still, they couldn’t do anything suspicious, or Samaritan would come after them regardless. Shaw knew that as well. She understood it just fine.

What she did _not_ understand is why she had to force on a smile and sell make-up to some of the most unbearable people on Earth.

She caught sight of Root. Right on cue, another of the unbearable people.

“I’m going to guess you used your little line to the Machine to get me this job,” Shaw said.

“Maybe,” Root said, smiling half-heartedly.

“Sort of thing you’d do.”

“Mm,” Root said.

Something was off. Shaw paused, leaning a little bit closer. Root’s expression wasn’t as playful as it usually was: none of that _I know better_ , and none of the constant joy. Ever since she’d lost her regular contact with the Machine.

“What is it?” Shaw said. “Don’t go losing that perky psycho thing, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Why Sameen, it almost sounds like you care,” Root said. She looked up, a shadow of the old glint in her eyes returning.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t go getting any ideas,” Shaw said. “You’re part of the team, that’s all.”

“Sure it is.”

“Don’t start,” Shaw said.

“Thought you missed it?” Root said. She gave an almost-smirk.

* * *

“Sameen, if you even think I’m going to let you-”

“For god’s sake-”

It had been the first time they’d kissed, on the lips at least. It was strange how that always came to the front of Root’s mind. They’d known they were soulmates for years, they’d been side by side, they’d done so much.

But a simple little kiss had been beyond them, until under Wall Street, until Sameen-

“ _Sameen!_ ”

The elevator doors slowly drew shut, and the sound of gunfire slowly became muffled, and fell silent.

“ _Sameen!_ ”

It had taken Sameen walking out to her death before she’d…

Fusco and Harold had to hold her back, stop her trying to tear the elevator cage open with her bare hands. God knows, she’d have found a way. She couldn’t just watch as-

And all the while the Machine chimed in her ears, _no valid options no valid options no valid options_ careening off the rails like Root felt she was going to.

“Miss Groves,” Harold said, urging her to be calm. She barely heard him.

Gunshots were ringing in her ears. She couldn’t forget the sight of Sameen falling, the sound of shots still ringing.

“We’re going back down,” Root said.

“We can’t,” Harold said. “It wouldn’t do anything. Miss Groves-”

“I’m _not_ going to leave her,” Root said.

She rounded on them suddenly, tearing herself away from the sight of closed doors. Instinctively, Harold took a step back.

_No valid options no valid options no valid options_

“I only have one tattoo,” Root said. “There’s no one else. I’m not leaving her down there. It’s- It’s Sameen. She’s special. She’s-”

She probably should have been concerned with the fact it was the first time she’d mentioned that they were soulmates. The topic hadn’t exactly come up in conversation, and regardless neither of them were really the type to talk about it.

They’d never said. Sameen might not be too happy if- when she came back.

Harold faltered, slightly. He’d know how losing a soulmate felt. She met his eyes, her own burning and brimming.

“We’ll find her,” John said, weakly.

Root looked down at him. He’d been shot in the escape, leaving him lying on the ground. He seemed as sure as Root, though, that Sameen was alive.

_No valid options no valid options no valid options no valid options_

“We’ll find her,” Root echoed, just as firmly. Her voice still shook.

* * *

Shaw ran, only aware of every other step, something indistinct flashing behind her eyes. She stumbled, her head pounded, and she kept on moving.

She came to a stop by a playground roundabout, grabbing it with one hand to try and keep herself up. Her breath burned her throat.

“Where are you going?” Root was behind her. “We need to get back to Harold, and the Machine.”

Shaw closed her eyes for the briefest of instances before turning herself around, and straightening. She held a gun in one hand (when had she withdrawn it?), not completely sure what she planned to do with it.

“I can’t do this any more,” Shaw said, breathless. “I don’t know who’s controlling this. I don’t know what’s…”

“Controlling what, sweetie?” Root said.

“Me,” Shaw said. She paused, then lifted her gun. “I shot Reese. And now I’m going to kill you too.”

Root didn’t even flinch.

“So why haven’t you?” Root said.

Shaw faltered.

“Because somewhere, in your sociopathic heart, you know we belong together,” Root said. “We always have.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Shaw said.

“Sweetie, it means everything,” Root said. “We’re a perfect team. Made for each other.”

“They’re just words,” Shaw said, her voice hollow. “Only words.”

“Sameen-”

The gun clicked. Shaw stared down the barrel, dimly aware her hands were shaking. Her hands never shook, not when she was aiming. There was-

She saw Root’s face. Despite the sureness of her voice, there was something in Root’s eyes. Fear, not of Shaw, but for her.

“I can get you to safety,” Root said.

“Nowhere’s safe.”

Shaw fired, once, and Root watched as Shaw fell to the ground.

And as she lay there, feeling her life trickle away, she heard an echo of an echo. _Beginning simulation 7002_.

* * *

She was back. Somehow. Of her thousands of escapes, the one that had worked escaped Shaw’s mind. But she was reasonably sure that this, here, was real.

Or at least as real as anything else was.

She’d seen Fusco, she’d seen Root behave as only Root could, she’d seen Bear… She didn’t know if she’d ever fully shake off the simulations, but she knew she could make a start.

And then Harold’s cover was blown.

She’d been itching to get out again, and start shooting. To do something, especially if it meant working alongside Root.

Thousands of simulations, thousands of intimidate, private moments where she’d said things she’d never otherwise say… It was beyond a violation, that Samaritan had overseen them, and that none of them were real.

But it did mean that, on that one topic if nothing else, Shaw was certain.

God damn it she had a soulmate, and she was going to enjoy every second.

* * *

“What’s the plan?” Root said, as she moved, firing away.

_Samaritan has snipers planning to kill Admin._

“Options?”

_Let Admin die_

“Not happening.”

_Swerve car so the bullet strikes you_

Root faltered for a moment. She’d always been willing to risk her life. If it was for the Machine, and by extension for Harold, she would. Or she might once have.

But there was Shaw. The universe meant for this. The universe meant for them to be, well, them. Root had lost Shaw before, and she’d seen how Shaw looked at her now. She wasn’t going to do the same to Shaw.

They were soulmates. That meant something.

She glanced sideways; Shaw was still there.

“What else?”

_The previous options have an 88% chance of zero extra casualties._

“And a path with no casualties?”

_36% chance of success. 62% chance of no survivors. 2% chance of some survivors._

Root breathed in. She looked across at Shaw, looked over to Harold, and then looked up to the nearest camera, knowing full well Samaritan and the Machine each looked back at her.

“You gave yourself up for me,” Root said. “You risked everything, for one person. Feels like we ought to do the same again.”

_Accepted._

Root smiled, and quickly moved up alongside Shaw.

“Up for a challenge sweetie?”

And together, they stood up, and kept on shooting.

* * *

It hadn’t been easy. Root had driven around for much longer than she could have, evading the multiple snipers that Samaritan had set up. Taking the longer route meant there was much more risk from their pursuers.

Harold had needed to take over driving after a certain point. Root had been shot, though only in the hand. Still, it was a serious enough injury; it had put her out of the game for a few days. There was no shooting when she could barely twitch her fingers.

After how far it had gone, after how close it had been for everyone involved, Harold had snapped. He and the Machine went out, releasing a computer virus.

And Root had watched from the subway carriage as the lights had flickered out, and she’d been the first to see and the first to cheer and cry out in sheer, unadulterated relief as the lights came on again.

* * *

_It’s over_ Reese’s voice said.

Their only loss in the final confrontation. The Machine had chosen his voice after returning from the satellite, and after doing away with the last of Samaritan. Still, Root persisted in using the pronoun ‘she.’

“It’s over,” Root echoed, looking across to Shaw.

“Still talking to the voices in your head?” Shaw said.

“Just voice,” Root said, “Only the one.”

“Not encouraging.”

“Definitely no traces left?” Shaw said. “Really don’t want to do this whole thing again.”

“Not even a line of Samaritan’s code,” Root said. “She’s checked. Only Her, like it should be.”

Root had left the subway. Her hand was still healing, though she’d started to regain functionality. For now, they were sharing a small-ish apartment in an out-of-the-way part of the city.

They didn’t leave their couple of rooms for much. Sure, Root liked a bit of excitement in her life, and she doubted Shaw would go for domesticity either, but they’d earned a few free days.

The Machine had been back for a few days before contacting Root via her earpiece. Shaw had known what had happened, just by Root’s expression.

“Ever think it’d come to this?” Root said, lying back.

“What?” Shaw said.

“Back when you found out we were soulmates,” Root said.

“You mean when you threatened to torture me with an iron?”

“Yep.”

“Not exactly,” Shaw said. She chuckled to herself. “Couldn’t stand you.”

“And now?”

“You have your moments,” Shaw said.

Root smiled, shifting slightly.

“I had a few doubts,” Root said. “Was kinda glad when I found out, but you always seemed so… so I’m glad you stopped trying to kill me.”

Root was beaming like this was a perfectly ordinary topic of conversation. Shaw sighed, though less exasperatedly than usual.

“Root, trust you.”

“What?” Root said. “You regretting it?”

“Sometimes,” Shaw said. “Less than I thought.”

“Careful, that was almost sweet,” Root said.

A few moments of silence. Root moved until she was sitting up, idly keeping one hand near Shaw. It just felt comfortable.

“Glad it was you,” Shaw said, eventually.

“What?” Root said.

“Never was that interested in having a soulmate,” Shaw said. “Thought I’d always hate the idea. Started looking forward to it as soon as I met you, though. Looked like it’d be a lot more fun than the cliché.”

“Thanks sweetie,” Root said, sickly-sweet. Shaw elbowed her.

“Just saying,” Shaw said. “If I had to have a soulmate, glad it was you.”

Root paused. It wasn’t that common for Shaw to open up; she didn’t quite know how to respond. Still, she smiled.

“Yeah,” Root said, eventually. “Was worth it, wasn’t it?”

She leaned across to Shaw. Somehow kisses had started coming more easily to the two of them. No need for a threat of imminent death.

Far too romantic. Shaw was looking forward to the time they could get back in the field; there were always more numbers, and the Machine’s other teams could always do with help.

For now, though, they might as well enjoy this.


	101. [blank]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to your regular ficlets, and playing around with odd situations.

Shaw looked at the blank skin over her heart, and smiled. She’d always worn it with a kind of pride.

No tattoo: no soulmate. She had asked her parents after finding a story online about someone who’d had their tattoo removed at birth, but according to them she hadn’t had one even when she was born.

There were no bumps, and no ridges; no signs of any kind of braille. A few doctors had asked to run a few tests with UV light and the like, and all had failed. The skin where there ought to have been ink remained permanently blank.

She didn’t have a soulmate.

It didn’t have a huge impact on her life, beyond the relief. She wouldn’t need to worry about anyone, for starters. It also let her be accepted into the military in record time; there was certainly no risk of her meeting her soulmate in the field.

She served for a few years, before coming back home, and reassembling what life she had. A fair few of her army buddies had pointed out how hard adjustment was.

There were only a few jobs open to her. Security, bodyguard… While musing, she accepted an interview request from a journalist over in god-knows-where. There was always some interest on stories from the front.

They’d exchanged a few emails, before ultimately deciding on an instant messenger: there was quick back and forth, and it was easier to take notes.

They sent a chat request, and after a few moments, Shaw accepted.

_Root:_ Is this Sameen Shaw?

_Shaw:_ Yeah. Root your penname?

_Root:_ Something like that. How do you want to start?

_Shaw:_ You tell me. You’re meant to be the professional.

_Root:_ Just trying to put you at ease. So, let’s start with you. Obvious questions. Who are you? Hobbies, idols…

Shaw took a moment before responding, giving a very rushed overview of her life between various questions and new topics, and the occasional request for elaboration.

_Root:_ Profile’s almost done. How about soulmate?

_Shaw:_ Don’t have one.

_Root:_ Not met them, then?

_Shaw:_ No, don’t have one. Never had a tattoo.

There was a pause at that. Shaw waited about half a minute before deciding to hurry it up.

_Shaw:_ Hello? Still there?

It was still a moment before a reply.

_Root:_ Sorry. Thought I was the only one.

_Shaw:_ What?

_Root:_ No tattoo. Don’t know anyone else like it, and haven’t found any well-sourced accounts of another. Yours wasn’t just removed?

_Shaw:_ No. You’re the same?

_Root:_ Yeah. How’d you feel about it?

_Shaw:_ Relieved. You?

_Root:_ Little disappointed. Was kinda curious about them. I’ll live.

The interview continued for a fair while more. Eventually they signed off, and said goodbye. Still, the next morning, Shaw awoke to a much more social email from Root.

Somehow they ended up staying in contact. If nothing else, Root could be fairly entertaining. Occasionally irritating, mostly entertaining.

Regardless, they did get on. Similar interests, broadly similar sense of humour… Shaw did enjoy talking to her.

_Root:_ So what are you wearing?

_Shaw:_ Really?

Well, most of the time. Root did seem to start off most mornings with a bit of flirting.

_Shaw:_ We’ve been talking a while, do you want my number? It’s got to be easier than this

_Root:_ No thanks.

_Shaw:_ Can I ask why?

_Root:_ Because I don’t want to hear your voice.

_Shaw:_ Excuse me?

_Root:_ If I heard you, it’d mean you had first words to me. If we keep this long distance, if we don’t speak…

_Shaw:_ What are you talking about?

_Root:_ We could be soulmates, sweetie.

Shaw resisted the urge to bang her head into the keyboard.

_Shaw:_ I told you, I don’t have one.

_Root:_ You told me you didn’t have a tattoo. That just means they don’t say anything to you. Story goes, everyone has one.

_Shaw:_ Aren’t there meant to be ways around that?

_Root:_ Only if they’re incapable of talking. I can talk, you just haven’t heard me.

Shaw sighed.

_Root:_ So, what do you say? Give long distance a go?

Root was better than most of the people Shaw had met, she’d say that much. And sure, long distance might limit her from a few of her preferred aspects to relationships, but not that much, especially with modern technology.

What the hell?

_Shaw:_ Sure. Just don’t call us soulmates.

_Root:_ Sure thing, other-half.


	102. Two 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel!

Root made sure her equipment was on properly, before looking across to Sameen. She’d admit, Sameen cut quite the figure all dressed up for paintballing.

The look in her eyes didn’t hurt, either. A glare that promised someone was definitely going to suffer. Root did seem to have that effect on her.

“Ready for the date, sweetie?” Root said.

“ _Not_ a date,” Sameen said. “No matter how many times you call it that.”

Root pouted.

“Still not,” Sameen said. “Just a chance for me to shoot you.”

“If you can.”

Sameen lifted her gun, a look on her face that went far beyond competitive.

“Trust me, I will.”

Root held back, not that she told Sameen. If she was being fair, Sameen did deserve a bit of a chance at revenge, and Root could take a loss.

Besides, if she beat Sameen this time the chances of her every coming out with Root again were basically non-existent.

She fired a few times, purposefully missing, and let herself get hit a couple of times. Still, she minimized the damage, and did get a few shots in.

Both of them were rather tired and aching by the time they’d finished. Stiffly, they returned the gear, barely talking to one another. It was only after they left the facility that Sameen groaned.

“I’ll beat you next time,” Root said.

“You think there’ll be a next time?” Sameen said.

“Went well for a first date, I’d say,” Root said. “Wouldn’t you?”

Sameen just sighed.

“Was fun,” Sameen said after a few seconds, reluctantly. “If you like getting shot at, I’m not going to say no.”

“Got a second date,” Root said, happily.

“They’re still not dates.”

Sameen kept walking, only vaguely aware that Root was wandering along beside her. She shot a few looks sideways; Root noticed a few glares, but acted as though she hadn’t.

Root tried to hold Sameen’s hand; Sameen tugged it away, turning more fully. Apparently her glares didn’t have any effect on Root.

“You look terrible,” Sameen said, then.

“You say the sweetest things.”

“Seriously,” Sameen said. “You should eat.”

“Inviting me to dinner?” Root said, playfully.

“A snack,” Sameen emphasized. “Just because I’m hungry, and I don’t want you collapsing.”

“Aww, thank you.”

“And you’re paying for your own,” Sameen said.

“Really starting to feel like a date,” Root said.

“I take it back,” Sameen said. “You can starve. I’m getting a snack, you go home.”

Still, Root followed her into the shop. Sameen groaned.


	103. A Good Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pirate AU was requested, so enjoy!

1818

A good ship was like a well-oiled machine. Root had always liked that illustration: every piece worked together, every member of the crew like a cog, all turning and moving in perfect harmony. Some to pull the right ropes, some to be a lookout, with constant communication between all quarters.

And her at the helm. Root adjusted her hat, shading her eyes as she looked up to the crow’s nest. Her lookout was waving.

The Machine, she called her ship, for that very reason. That was how it worked. Sure, they’d left the restrictions of law behind, falling into piracy, but total freedom was unsustainable. They were only a success so long as they worked together, like a machine.

She squinted, before the look-out shouted:

“Ship to port!”

Root raised her telescope, looking out over the side of the ship. Sure enough there was a vessel in the distance. A privateer, by the look of it, gaining on them.

Privateers were on the way out, she’d heard. Still, there were still a few to worry about: private citizens who served their country aboard a ship. A good number of them were little more than pirates themselves, gaining only a small veneer of respectability by claiming loyalty to some authority.

As they sailed on, the distant ship had evidently spotted them. It altered course, heading right for them.

No doubt it recognized the vessel. The Machine, captained by Root, had amassed quite a reputation.

“We’re not going to outrun them,” Root said, then raised her voice to be heard over the rush of waves; “Alter heading! Let’s get our cannons pointed right at them.”

A chorus of ayes, and Root gripped the wheel. She turned it, watching as her crew shifted the sails.

The privateer’s ship drew closer, trying to change direction. Root gave the orders to alter heading, waiting until they were in range of each other. So long as she got the first shot…

“Fire!” Root yelled, and the deck shook as her cannons blazed.

She’d gotten it. First blood, as they’d say in duels. That was always a good omen; she heard wood splinter and the crew of the opposing ship cry out.

They responded in kind, slowly growing nearer. Root gestured, shouting orders to delay boarding as long as possible. They had nothing to gain from salvaging the other ship, while the other ship would want to bring them back for a bounty.

Ideally they’d be able to sink it before it got closer to them.

The Machine rocked again, and she watched as the other ship began to move alongside them. Still, it was battered; no chance it would remain seaworthy for much longer.

The first plank joining their two ships was lowered, and the privateer crew started rushing aboard. Root unsheathed her cutlass, preparing to fight back. She’d defend her ship.

It was chaos. Some still manned the cannons, firing to sink the other vessel, while simultaneously trying to fend off the invaders. Root did what she could to help, launching herself into the fray, slashing and hacking and kicking. She watched some of the opposing crew fall flailing over the side of the ship, left behind in the ocean as the vessels sailed on.

“To their ship!” the other ship’s captain cried. “We’re taking it!”

A chorus of agreement. Root rolled her eyes; that was just rude.

Root had her fair share of tattoos. Most who took to sea gathered a number, she could take quite a while to list them all. There was only one she’d had since she was born. _To their ship_.

So, her soulmate was trying to steal her Machine. Root knew where her priorities were.

Barely taking a moment to think about it, she leapt the gap between ships, easily going against the tide of crew going the other way. She caught sight of their captain easily, holding their vessel steady alongside the Machine. Root ran up to her, cutlass held aloft.

The captain looked up sharply.

“A good captain goes down with her ship, didn’t they teach you that in privateer school?” Root said.

Root caught that glint of recognition in the captain’s eyes. She knew the words; yet she still withdrew her own blade.

“This isn’t my ship,” the captain said, “Any more, at least. I’ve got a new one, just over there.”

“I thought I was meant to be the thief?”

“I doubt you paid for it,” the captain said. “Root, isn’t it? It’s not stealing if it’s not yours either.”

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Root said.

“Captain Shaw.”

And then Shaw swung. Their blades met, and met again, singing as the two duelled.

It was good to get out of the chaos, Root would admit. Everyone else had left this sinking ship, except for her, and Captain Shaw. They had the freedom to move, and the freedom to fight.

Swords flashed, feet danced over splintered wood. They could feel the ship slowly sinking. Still, it ought to last long enough.

Root watched what was happening aboard her ship out of the corner of her eye. It was hard to be sure who was winning, neither crew bothered with uniforms, but both were fighting hard.

An opening!

Root lunged, hooking the tip of her cutlass through the handle of Shaw’s, and pulling. Disarmed, it took one more swing before Shaw had her back against the edge of the ship, hair flying free over the edge.

Root slashed once, just at Shaw’s top. She was please to recognize the words she saw there.

“Real mature,” Shaw said.

“Just checking,” Root said, before pressing her blade to Shaw’s throat. “Call your men off.”

“Better idea,” Shaw said. “You could surrender.”

Root paused.

“Yield,” Shaw said.

“Why would I do that?”

“Look behind you,” Shaw said.

“That trick’s _old_.”

“I’ve got your ship, my crew’s won,” Shaw said. “The moment you kill me, you’re dead. You don’t have any more friends out here. Take a step back, and hand me your sword, I can promise you that you’ll live for a bit longer.”

Root paused for a moment. She took a step back, keeping her blade positioned smartly, and glanced for a split second towards her ship.

When she looked back at Shaw, Shaw hadn’t moved. She didn’t need to: the fighting aboard the Machine had stopped. The only reason the victors weren’t flooding back over was because they were worried about their Captain’s fate.

“Let’s talk terms,” Root said.

“No terms,” Shaw said.

“You want to get out of this with your life,” Root said. “I’d suggest talking terms. I’m guessing you’re going to lock me in my own brig. Fair enough. But if you want to commandeer my ship, you’re going to take care of her, even after I’ve gone. Swear to that, and I’ll yield.”

Shaw met Root’s eyes for a moment; then nodded. Root smiled, stepped back, and offered the handle of her weapon to Shaw.

It was odd to see the Machine’s brig from this perspective, Root reflected, but she’d get used to it. She was her ship, after all; she knew every plank, every flaw.

A course had been set back for land, presumably where Root could expect a speedy ‘trial’ and execution. There was a little way to go left before that.

Every few days, Shaw visited.

Neither of them mentioned the fact they were soulmates. Still, Root couldn’t think of any other reason Shaw seemed interested enough to talk to her.

“She’s a good ship,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said.

“I might keep her.”

“If I don’t take her back,” Root said. She smiled.

“Good luck with that.”

“Take it you’ve explored?” Root said. “There’s a hidden chamber-”

“Under the navigation room, we found it,” Shaw said. “You’ve quite a haul.”

“Like my booty?”

Shaw paused, and swiftly moved on.

“The infamous Root,” Shaw said. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“We had a bad few days,” Root said. “Besides, it’s not over yet.”

“I think it is.”

They made it to shore after just a few days. Root could feel her ship slow, and hear the noise of the port. There was a stampede of footsteps; you could always count on sailors relishing the chance to return to dry land.

Root seemed to be the only survivor of her crew. The rest had fallen in the battle; there was only a bounty on Root’s head.

She waited a few minutes. It would take a little time for authorities to come back here, to identify her. For that time, there wouldn’t be too many aboard.

Why would there be? She was locked up, nice and secure.

Or she should be. Never lock a girl up in her own cell, Root though, wandering over to the wall and reaching up high. For that matter, never make a cage you can’t get out of.

There was a loose plank, and just past it-

She pulled out a spare key, before hurrying over to the door. A click later and she was free.

If she were ever caught, she had enough confidence in herself to know the people responsible sure as hell wouldn’t be left with a seaworthy ship. That meant they’d need to steal hers, which meant they’d lock her up in that very cell.

It was just a matter of patience.

She wandered out onto deck. It was a good few seconds before anyone reacted to her, and by then she’d stolen a cutlass.

Only three people had been left on the Machine. Less than she’d thought. Root smiled, pulling on a rope to bring the sail down, and hurriedly pulled up the anchor.

It was a good minute before the cry went up on land, realizing that she was free. In that time she ran over every available spot of the ship, setting it loose and starting to sail out.

It took more than one person to sail a ship well, but in a pinch one would do well enough. If nothing else, she could get out to freedom, and get herself a crew elsewhere.

She was a good way out from shore before she noticed another ship coming out from port. Well then, she had a pursuer. She was almost keen to see how well she’d do controlling the ship by herself.

She scanned the deck, found a loose telescope, and lifted it to her eye.

Well, she was lucky. It was a poor ship, by the look of it; a hastily commandeered vessel to chase after her. Maybe it was the only one with enough crew aboard to sail. Not nearly as fast as the Machine, at least if the Machine was fully crewed.

Root turned her gaze upwards, focusing the scope. She was rather unsurprised to see Captain Shaw standing by the wheel, looking out towards her, grim and purposeful.

Of course Shaw would want to catch her. Root grinned, before getting back to work. There was no time to stand still, if she had a whole ship to control.

If Shaw wanted a chase, she’d lead her to the ends of the earth.


	104. Cinnamon Roll 3

Shaw lay back in the bed, blinking her eyes open. The lava lamp gently glooped. She stared.

How, exactly, had this become her life? She stared for a long few seconds, watching it slowly move. She was alone on the bed, she could feel that much.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Root walked up with surprising dexterity.

Shaw had always prided herself on being able to hear when people were trying to sneak up on her. She rolled over, grouchily sitting up, and looking down at the floor.

Bunny slippers. Of course. Apparently they were as good at absorbing noise as they were at looking ridiculous.

Shaw grunted. Root pushed a toasted sandwich onto her lap.

“I’ve noticed, you’ll put off being grumpy if there’s food in it for you,” Root said.

Shaw took a bite out of the sandwich, still glaring.

“Want to go shopping today?” Root said.

Shaw continued to eat, taking a couple more mouthfuls, chewing slowly, and swallowing. She looked at Root, and decided to take another mouthful before answering.

“No.”

She started eating again. Root pouted.

“If you’re going to be staying over,” Root said. “May as well. You’ve made it clear what you think of my decorations. Had to replace that already,” she gestured to the lava lamp. “If you don’t like it, may as well come up with something you can stand.”

Shaw paused, glancing to the side. Right, that reminded her. Idly she reached out with one hand and knocked the lava lamp of the cabinet, watching it break in pretty much the exact same spot as the other.

Root just rolled her eyes, not particularly concerned.

“I prefer you when you’re killing people,” Shaw said, taking another bite.

“Now, now Sameen,” Root said, “Can’t do that all the time. Have to have a home, and if you’re going to complain about mine, ought to be able to help replace it.”

“I’m not fussy,” Shaw said. “It’s a room for sleeping in, not for looking at. I don’t have likes. Just dislikes.”

“Which apparently includes bunnies,” Root pouted.

“Do you have to be so-” Shaw hesitated.

“So?”

“So _cute_ ,” Shaw said, eventually.

Root beamed.

“You think I’m cute?” Root said.

“It’s not a good thing.”

“Think most people would disagree,” Root said.

She was smiling as she walked up to the bed, watching as Shaw wolfed down the rest of her sandwich. Root rested one hand in Shaw’s hair.

“You’re cute too sweetie,” she said.

Shaw pulled away, a little violently. Root chuckled.

“Told you.”


	105. Watch It Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> I'll be going on holiday tomorrow. I thought there was a way to schedule updates but it looks like that isn't the case. I'm going to try to draft future chapters, and hopefully find time to hit the publish button while I'm away, but if updates vanish or are uneven, that's why.

Root was hurrying to work, barely paying attention to her surroundings. She jostled her way through the crowd, sidling through what felt like a stampede.

She brushed a few shoulders. It was hard not to, in this much of a crowd. Still, she knocked into one person a little harder, stumbling.

“Watch it, princess,” the woman said curtly, sidestepping away.

Root jumped, stunned for a brief second, before turning around. She’d had only the briefest glimpse of the woman, and now looking back she could only see indistinct faces in the crowd.

Root knew those words. So, that was her soulmate.

Root considered shouting for a moment, but decided against it. It was unlikely her soulmate would hear, and even if they did even less likely they’d be able to find each other.

Which meant that would probably be her only experience of them. Root took a moment to recall what she could; not too tall, dark-haired… That was about all she could say about her.

Mildly disappointed, Root turned away and continued walking to work.

* * *

“Hey,” Root said, a good few months later, “This seat taken?”

The woman looked up from her drink, appraised Root, then shrugged. Root smiled, and slipped onto the seat.

“Not exactly crowded,” the woman said, gesturing around the bar.

“Not nearly as nice company on other tables though,” Root said. “I’m Root.”

“Sameen,” the woman said: paused. “Shaw.”

“Well Sameen,” Root said, leaning forwards to grin. “Can I buy you another drink?”

“Never say no to a whiskey,” Shaw said. “If you’re offering.”

“Of course,” Root said. “You free?”

“For?”

“Just generally,” Root said. “Not taken? No soulmate or awkward-other in the picture?”

“Nothing serious,” Shaw said.

“That’s a relief,” Root said. “Didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Subtle.”

“Stranger comes up to you at a bar,” Root said. “Pretty clear what I’m after. If you didn’t shoo me off, guessing you’re fine with it.”

“So far,” Shaw said. “Don’t ruin it.”

“How could I do that, Sameen?” Root said. She tilted her head.

“Making it more.”

“Can I see your tattoo?” Root said, suddenly.

Shaw paused.

“What?” Root said, innocently.

“You heard what I said, right?”

“Yep,” Root said. “Something wrong?”

Shaw stared for a moment at the woman evidently trying to purposefully push her buttons. For a few seconds she considered just leaving, before she gave a slight chuckle.

She tilted her head, stretching her neck to one side and pulling down her top. _Hey_ was written neatly on her skin.

“Not that it’ll do you any good,” Shaw said. “Hear a dozen a day. You?”

“Want to know if you’re mine?” Root said, playfully.

“Want to know how unbearable you’re going to be,” Shaw said.

“Very,” Root said. “Don’t worry though, met mine.”

“And yet you’re here flirting with me.”

“Bumped into them in a crowd,” Root said. “They said the words, I never saw them again, and I probably never will, so you don’t have to worry. If you’re my soulmate, I wouldn’t know.”

Shaw regarded her for a long few seconds.

“Good enough,” Shaw said.


	106. Hand It Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So hopefully this update will have worked. I probably won't be able to do much in the way of editing or sorting out if not, but I should be able to hit 'add chapter.'   
> For the next couple of weeks updates may be sporadic, though I'll try to keep them coming more or less daily. 
> 
> There'll be sequels, requests, AUs etc. Same as normal.   
> Enjoy! I'll read every comment when I get back.

Shaw wasn’t quite sure what had drawn her to vigilantism. Maybe she liked helping people, maybe she just liked the challenge.

It wasn’t too much. Just go out on a few late night walks while armed, keep an eye out. That was an advantage to looking small, people thought she was an easy target. If someone didn’t try to attack her, then she usually got her adrenaline fix by walking past a few shops.

There was inevitably a wannabe shoplifter. It was usually easy to scare them off.

“Just give me it all,” a voice came from one such corner shop.

Shaw rolled her eyes. Root again; Root did seem to be one of the more active thieves in the area. Shaw had ended up seeing quite a bit of her.

She’d first seen Root a good couple of months ago, in much the same situation. Root had managed to surprise her; Shaw blamed that for why she’d managed to get away.

“Hey,” Shaw said, raising her voice as she walked inside.

Step one, distract: give the shopkeeper a chance to get away. There was no emptying the till then.

“Be with you in a moment sweetie,” Root said, absently waving her gun.

Shaw moved closer, only to see Root swing her arm around.

“I said in a moment,” Root said. “And you,” she looked to the shopkeeper, “I can happily point it back at you nice and quickly, so nothing funny. Just give me the money.”

Of course, now Root was at a disadvantage. She had to look in two directions at once; Shaw behind her, and the shopkeeper in front.

Shaw gave a slight nod to the shopkeeper. Opening the till would cause noise, which would cover Shaw’s movements, and would draw Root’s attention away-

Click. Shaw ran, managing to grab the barrel of Root’s gun and force it up before she could fire, yanking it out of her grasp.

A thrust, a kick- Root always put up an impressive fight. Still, disarmed, she was at too much of a disadvantage to continue.

Shaw winced as she felt the brief spark of a taser, but she knew to expect it. Root always seemed to be carrying one as a back-up; Shaw managed to edge away, receiving only an echo of a jolt.

Still, it was enough to stun her for a couple of seconds. That was all it took for Root to run out the door. Shaw groaned for a moment, and nodded across to the shopkeeper.

They were ok, good. Shaw straightened, and started out the door.

By the time she got there, the street was empty. Yet again, Root had run away. She sighed, and began to trudge home.

She got to her apartment after a couple of minutes. She stopped a mugging on the way back, taking out just a bit too much frustration on the assailant.

She unlocked her door, and walked inside-

“Have a good day, sweetie?”

She rolled her eyes to see Root laying back on her bed. Of course she’d made it back here.

“I’m going to get you sometime,” Shaw said, absently walking across.

“So you say,” Root said. “Didn’t happen.”

“You distracted me the first time,” Shaw said. “Stupid soulmate stuff.”

“That your excuse for the time after that?” Root said. “And the time after that? And the time after-”

“You got lucky,” Shaw said.

“Or maybe you just don’t want to catch me,” Root said. She offered a playful sigh; Shaw rolled her eyes.

They had a slight arrangement. It wouldn’t really be fair for Shaw to hand Root in just because they shared a bed every now and again. When she caught Root out thieving, then she’d be done with Root.

Until then, might as well enjoy herself.

“Going to get a costume?” Root said.

“What?”

“Superhero costume,” Root said. “Wandering the streets at night, fighting crime… You probably need one. Something nice and tight. I’m seeing leather and-”

Root was staring rather openly at her. Shaw didn’t flush, glaring back, and watching as Root just tried to look more and more debauched, rather than looking away.

“What?” Root said, innocently. “Just a thought.”

“I’m not taking advice from you,” Shaw said, flatly.

“But you love me.”

“I like fucking you, it doesn’t mean I like you,” Shaw said. “We’re enemies.”

“Enemies to lovers?”

“Enemies to enemies,” Shaw said. “Going to get you soon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Root beamed. “Come back to bed sweetheart.”


	107. Watch Where You're Walking 5

Root stood by the corner of the room, curious. She’d left Bear at home; she could walk Shaw home today, after. She was just curious.

She’d signed up for one of Shaw’s self-defence lessons, even if she hadn’t told Shaw.

She’d be honest, it was partly for selfish purposes. After seeing Shaw fend off the mugger, she was curious about seeing Shaw fight others. Still, she was also curious to know whether Shaw would recognize her.

As it turned out, the deception lasted about a minute. Shaw walked out, gave a quick introduction, then gestured to pick a volunteer, only to point out Root.

She was meant to be gesturing a response to a grapple. That part well enough; Root was asked to try to grab her from behind. When Root tried, Shaw responded with precision Root so enjoyed watching, and Root ended up pinned to the padded ground. Root gave a slight cry.

There was a brief pause.

“Root?” Shaw said, low.

“What gave it away?” Root said, just as softly.

“I know you,” Shaw said. “What exactly are you doing here?”

“Learning,” Root said.

She still had Root pinned to the ground. For a few seconds, Shaw seemed to be genuinely debating whether or not she wanted to let Root up.

“If you wanted to go on top, you only had to ask,” Root said.

Shaw grunted something, getting back to her feet. She cleared her throat, trying to regain professionalism.

For a more fluid demonstration, she asked Root to try again. That time she gave more detail about the parts of the move, and when Root grabbed her she responded with the same move, expecting the watchers to learn from it.

That time, Shaw was a little bit rougher. Root probably shouldn’t have enjoyed it quite so much.

Then it came time for practise. People split up into pairs. There were an odd number, so Root paired with Shaw, a fact both of them seemed fairly happy with.

It was just one move, for that lesson. Each pair took turns being aggressor and defender, with varying degrees of success. After enough time passed, though, Shaw stood up and decided to take stock.

As she couldn’t watch, she’d take turns with each of the attendees, pretending to attack and gauging how they responded.

Root watched, at the back of the line. Shaw went easy on them, not too bothered by falling back into the mat, before giving a final few tips.

When it was Root’s turn, it wasn’t too difficult to respond. She pushed back, until she had Shaw pinned under her.

“This feels familiar,” Root said, hopefully too quietly for the rest of the class to hear.

“Get off, Root.”

“Thought you liked it?”

Shaw sighed. She waited for a few seconds more.

“Seriously Root,” Shaw said. “There are others in the class, you know.”

“I know.”

“What, are you jealous I’m fighting other people?” Shaw said.

“A little.”

Shaw chuckled despite herself, shifting position just slightly to flex upwards and force Root to lose her grip. Root hastily got back to her feet, straightening and standing as though they hadn’t been down there far longer than any of the others.

It took a couple more seconds for Shaw to stand, instinctively straightening her outfit.

“So, what do you think of my technique?” Root said.

Shaw closed her eyes for a moment before answering.

The lesson went on in much the same way. By the end, Root was reasonably sure the rest of the class suspected there was something going on between her and Shaw. They weren’t the most subtle of people.

Root wasn’t sure she’d attend it again. Still, she’d enjoyed it. Partly for the simpler reasons of watching Shaw, partly because Shaw was a pretty good teacher, and partly because she did so enjoy playing around with Shaw.

When it was over, Root waited around after. After everyone else had gone, Shaw had put everything away.

“Really, Root?” Shaw said, wandering over.

Root took her arm, barely thinking about it, as they started on the walk home.

“Thanks for the lesson,” Root said, innocently.

“If you wanted to learn, you could’ve just asked,” Shaw said.

“Wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun,” Root said.

They walked for a short distance more before Root sighed.

“Really though, how’d you know it was me?” Root said. “I wanted to see how long I could keep it up. Do you just call everyone Root?”

“I told you,” Shaw said. “I know you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Just because I can’t see you, you think you’re not distinctive?” Shaw said. “The way you sound, the way you feel…”

“Careful,” Root said. “You’re almost sounding romantic.”

Shaw sighed.

“Lovelorn sigh, now?” Root said.

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw said, “You just went through a lesson where I taught how to hit people. Are you really trying to annoy me?”

“Well, I enjoyed the lesson,” Root said.

Shaw sighed again. “This is why I like walking with Bear.”

“Why?”

“Conversation’s more bearable,” Shaw said.

Root grinned. Shaw walked on for a few seconds, before sensing something was different with Root’s manner.

“What is it?” Shaw said.

“Was that a pun?”

“What?”

“Bear, bear-able,” Root said. “Guess I must be rubbing off on you.”

“I really hope not.”


	108. In Here

Ironically, prison was one of the best hideouts from the law. It was a fact Root relied on. If you were in prison, it was considered an ironclad alibi: how could you commit a crime from inside?

Rather easily, as it turned out.

Root had asked to be allowed to prepare her own defence. When it came to appeals, hearings etc, she had to be given access to a computer with access to a whole law library. It wasn’t too hard to sneak past the security features and get access to the internet at large, and the wide array of wonderful opportunities it offered.

Which left multiple guards either on her payroll or otherwise under her thumb, and her allowed visits to the computer to occur far more often than the otherwise should. It also meant a lot of contraband was sent to and near her prison.

Add into that the ever-popular information trade and she had a lot of money ready for her, thanks to all manner of online crimes that no one would ever think to pin on her.

That, and a fair amount of popularity behind bars too.

“They say you can get alcohol in here,” Root looked up, to see a woman standing at the base of her bunk.

Root paused. Her soulmate, then. Root probably shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d meet her perfect match in prison.

“They say a lot of things,” Root said, sitting up slowly.

Shaw stared for a long few seconds.

The way people thought in prison was different to the outside. Loyalties were important: friendships, allegiances… Sometimes romances, to an extent, though there were a number of relationships people know would last as far as the prison walls.

Someone who might reject a soulmate outside, might feel different within. Root could see conflicting emotions on Shaw’s face.

Then Shaw walked into the small pseudo-room, sitting at the foot of the lower bunk. She looked over to Root.

“I could really do with that drink now,” Shaw said.

Root snorted.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “Soulmates’ discount?”

“If it means I get whiskey for free, I’ll take it,” Shaw said.

“No promises for high quality,” Root said.

“Any would be good.”

Root chuckled to herself. Well given how little people had access to, that was no surprise.

“So, what are you in for?” Shaw said.

“Hacking a few banks and servers too many,” Root said. “You?”

“What I did, or what I got caught for?” Shaw said.

“Promising start,” Root said.

Root tilted her head. Likely a violent criminal, then; they were the ones that implied doing more than what they were caught for. Always a handy ally.

She could tell Shaw was thinking along the same terms. Practicalities. A soulmate was more than romance; it was a partner in crime. Anyone could do with someone who had Root’s connections.

“How scary do you think you could look?” Root said.

“I tend to manage,” Shaw said. “What, is this a job interview?”

“If you want it,” Root said.

“Pay me in whiskey?”

“Among other things,” Root said. She gave a smirk; Shaw gave a slight chuckle, more disbelieving than unhappy.

“I can live with that,” Shaw said.

Any business, especially one like Root’s, could do with an enforcer. Little intimidation, little muscle; Shaw looked as though she fit the bill.

“I get the feeling this is going to go well, sweetheart.”

“It’s Shaw.”

“Root.”

“I know,” Shaw said. “So, where’s that drink?”


	109. Her 2

Shaw would never get used to how Root looked at her. Every few moments, when her eyes drifted sideways, she’d inevitably find Root gazing at her.

Even on a mission. Shaw always had new jobs to do, new threats to deal with. Root followed; the Machine didn’t seem to mind. That little voice in Shaw’s ear promised Root’s skills could be of use.

It was Shaw’s choice, though. The Machine always made that clear. Not that Shaw ever thought she’d be able to get Root to do what she said.

Now and again Shaw toyed with the idea of delivering an order, and claiming it came from the Machine. She did have to wonder how far she could push Root, pretending that. Anything that came from the Machine, Root was quick to obey.

_Potential asset four o’clock_

“Kinda busy Root,” Shaw said.

_Eleven o’clock. Two o’clock. Nine o’clock._

Shaw walked down the corridor, shooting with pinpoint precision. She didn’t turn around; Root was behind her, and Shaw knew how she’d always look.

_Wait_.

Shaw came to a stop. Presumably the rest of the security and guards were scrabbling into pre-arranged positions; they’d be more advantageously positioned in a little time. Shaw knew how this went.

Slowly, she turned back to face Root. Just as she’d expected, Root was staring at her with a kind of euphoria.

“Hey there,” Root said.

“You don’t have to tag along every time,” Shaw said.

“Does She mind?”

“She’s more tolerant than me,” Shaw said. “What do you think you can achieve?”

“You might miss one.”

“If she misses one, we’ve got more trouble than you can deal with,” Shaw said.

“I meant you,” Root said. “Human error’s always where the best systems can fail.”

“Watch it.”

Shaw took a step forward, glancing around the corner. As much as she trusted the Machine’s eyes, she was never comfortable with standing around doing nothing in the middle of an engagement.

Besides, as far as Shaw was concerned, all the programming in the world couldn’t be a match for human instinct.

_They are worth protecting._

“They’re worth protecting,” Shaw echoed the Machine’s words. She tapped her earpiece; Root’s eyes widened.

Root could be a little trigger happy, Shaw knew that. The Machine definitely knew that. Regardless, apparently she was still wanted around. Shaw would admit, she didn’t mind it too much; it was oddly refreshing.

Even so, most shoot-outs they got involved in, half the Machine’s words seemed to be asking Shaw to tell Root to tone it down.

“I’m not interested in being her therapist,” Shaw said, to the world at large.

_Understood._

“You don’t have to be,” Root said.

“She seems to want it,” Shaw said. “If it’s even possible to reform you.”

“Just have to ask, sweetie,” Root said.

Shaw rolled her eyes, her retort cut off by a _Go_. Thank god.

Shaw started moving again, darting through the doorway and lifting her gun again. She made it a few steps before noticing Root nearly catching up to her.

“You can stop staring,” Shaw said, still following the Machine’s orders. “I get it. I talk to her, you’re an obsessive. Drop it.”

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

“Oh,” Root said. She beamed. “Yeah, it’s to do with Her as well, I guess.”

“As well?”

“You look hot with a gun,” Root said.

Shaw rather purposefully turned away.


	110. Madam President

The 45th President of the United States of America was sworn in on Friday the 20th of January, 2017. Shaw stood to the side, conspicuously inconspicuous, and ever-watchful. That was the role of the secret service, after all.

Shaw had seen President Groves a few days before, after the election results had come in. It was little more than a formality. President Groves had said a few words while her secret service detachment stood to attention.

It hadn’t been all that memorable.

Every President had a codename, for quick and easy communication. Nowadays it was little more than tradition; still, Shaw had always taken to thinking of Presidents in terms of that codename.

It made work a lot easier. There was no time spent wondering who Renegade or Evergreen or Intrepid was, it might as well have just been their name. As such, Shaw would always think of the latest President as Root.

Shaw stood by the side of the room. Root had asked for her to stay inside; Shaw was fine with that. She was meant to watch Root, after all.

“We should talk,” Root said, scanning a document.

“About what, Madam President?”

Shaw preferred to keep things formal: business-like.

“About the fact we’re soulmates,” Root said.

She didn’t look up from the papers.

Shaw tried to stay impassive. People usually weren’t comfortable if their security detail showed surprise. Still, it was hard not to falter.

“Your whole little group said the exact same thing to me when we first met,” Root said. “I just had to read your files. Your tattoos are nicely recorded. Yours was the first line of my little introductory speech. Not hard to put two and two together.”

“There are regulations,” Shaw said. “No improper behaviour. From either of us.”

“What’s a presidency without a sex scandal?” Root said. “Need to be remembered for something.”

“Could hurt your re-election chances.”

“I’ll get votes the same way I did this time,” Root said, shrugging.

“And how’s that?”

“Lots and lots of electoral fraud,” Root said. “I had a bored weekend, and those electronic machines aren’t nearly as secure as you’d think.”

Shaw wasn’t entirely sure Root was joking.

“What do you say?” Root said. “I mean, no pressure, but if we’re going to be spending a lot of time together we may as well have more fun. I can get distracted by a girl in a suit.”

Propositioned by arguably the most powerful person in the world. It wasn’t entirely unflattering, Shaw reflected.

Besides, Root seemed nice enough. And Shaw was one of the few people allowed to carry a gun right next to the President, so she was perfectly capable of stopping things.

Assassination was an option Shaw had seriously been considering if one of the other candidates had won the election anyway.

“There are rules,” Shaw said.

“That’s no fun.”

“Just saying, we need to be careful,” Shaw said.

“That a yes?”

“Maybe,” Shaw said. “Depends what you’re planning on getting away with.”

Root just beamed.


	111. What Do You Say? 4

They’d decided to have a brief holiday to celebrate their new tax benefits. If they were going to be getting a little extra money, might as well use it on something.

It absolutely and emphatically was _not_ a honeymoon.

“How you doing, Mrs Root?” Root said.

“Don’t call me that.”

It had been a small affair. A quick trip to Vegas, a few days spent gambling (until Root got kicked out), then they’d hopped a plane to a far sunnier locale.

One of these days maybe they’d even leave the hotel room.

“Want to hyphenate instead?” Root said. “Probably should have thought this through before the wedding.”

“You suck at pillow talk.”

Root chuckled.

“We could be having actual fun right now,” Shaw said.

“You think this isn’t fun?”

“Not Vegas-fun,” Shaw said.

“We could be doing this in Vegas,” Root said. She rolled sideways. “No reason we couldn’t.”

“No point in Vegas when you got us kicked out of the casinos,” Shaw said. “You just had to cheat, didn’t you?”

“Kinda,” Root said. She smiled across. “Only way to actually win. Sorry sweetie, but you know me.”

Shaw sighed. That had been what changed their destination of holiday; they’d planned to stick around in Vegas after their hasty wedding, but there was much less to do there after Root’s suspicious winning streak had been detected.

So, someplace sunny was the second choice.

“So, want to sunbathe sometime, Mrs Root?” Root said.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Shaw rolled onto her side to glare, only to see Root beaming. Shaw groaned.

“ _This_ is why we don’t spend any time together,” Shaw said. “Outside of the usual, at least. Don’t know what I was thinking with this holiday.”

“You were thinking you wanted to spend more time with your wife,” Root said, playfully.

Shaw just winced at the word. God, it just sounded _wrong_. She had a wife? She was a wife? Wives? Ugh. Didn’t suit her.

Still, there were a couple of benefits.

“Absolutely,” Shaw said, cloyingly sweet.

Root blinked, jumping suddenly. She looked towards Shaw, only to see Shaw regarding her with open adoration.

It was about two seconds before Root fell out of bed, rolling out of the way in shock as much as anything. Above her, Shaw snorted.

“You deserved that,” Shaw said, much less sweetly.

That was the thing about Root. She loved to tease, all the damn time, but she wasn’t nearly so good at taking it.

On the floor, Root slowly sat back up, then stood.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Root said.

Shaw rolled onto her back, smiling. Finally, they were getting back to the actually good stuff.

“I’m waiting,” Shaw said.


	112. Take Me To Your Boss

Shaw didn’t expect too much entertainment. Standing guard was rarely interesting; it just meant sitting around and waiting for something that very rarely happened. And if something did happen, it wasn’t for long.

Still, it was a pay-check. Government facilities could often do without trespassers, especially ISA operations, and for now Shaw was technically off field work.

This wasn’t nearly as strenuous an activity as an operation would be. It was basically just sitting around, after all. On her last mission she’d been shot; nothing new, nothing serious, but it did always take time to heal.

Shaw didn’t expect much excitement. She certainly didn’t expect a woman to come striding up to the facility’s gates, bold as anything, and grin at her.

“Take me to your boss,” the woman demanded.

Shaw hesitated. Sure, she’d dimly been aware that she’d have to meet her soulmate at some point in her life, but she’d expected it to be some movie quote, or some situation that wasn’t, well, this.

Ah well. Not like it made a difference.

“You’re not meant to be here,” Shaw said. “I suggest you turn around.”

The woman raised her eyebrows at Shaw’s words, clearly recognizing them. She made no indication she planned to turn around.

“I know what this place is,” the woman said. “And I know your boss is going to want to talk to me.”

“Do you now?” Shaw said, raising her gun. Soulmate or not, most people shouldn’t know what this building was. “And who are you?”

“Now there’s a question,” the woman said. She paused. “Let’s say Connie Rayleigh.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows. Well that was just her luck.

The ISA had a list of most-wanted domestic threats: not necessarily terrorists, just particularly dangerous individuals. It was top secret, most people on it wouldn’t be known to the public, but Shaw had memorized the first twenty names.

Alternating between fourth and fifth place was a woman who adopted a whole storm of aliases. Shaw was reasonably sure Connie Rayleigh was among them. It sounded about right.

Not quite top three, but having a soulmate anywhere on that list was hardly encouraging. Still, at least she wasn’t first place: the list was topped by the ever-elusive Root, a figure whose identity wasn’t known beyond the handle they used online. No connection had been made between them, and anyone else.

“And why should I take you inside?” Shaw said.

“To make a deal,” ‘Connie’ said. “By the look of it, you recognize my name, so you have to know I get a fair bit of information. Wouldn’t you like to share?”

“Not my decision to make,” Shaw said. “All I see’s a threat trying to gain access.”

“Call it in,” she said. “Like I said, I want to talk to your boss. Someone with the right authority. Sure I can offer an incentive.”

And that was how Shaw ended up leading one of the most dangerous women in the country at gunpoint inside, after searching Connie for weapons (and getting a rather suggestive look while she did so).

Eventually they made it to the office of the one Shaw only called Control. She was sitting at her desk, waiting.

Connie sat down opposite Control, cuffed but apparently not caring. Shaw stood to the back, by the wall of the room and out of the conversation. She was just there to shoot Connie, if it proved necessary.

“You want to talk,” Control said, less than amiably. “Talk.”

“I want a pardon,” Connie said. “None of your people chasing after me, no need to keep looking over my shoulder… Makes life a lot easier, you know?”

“We’re not in the business of handing out pardons.”

“That’s why I wanted to make a deal,” Connie said. “White-hat hacker. It’s a thing. I can get you info on, ooh, who’s above me on your little list?”

“You’ve had an attack of conscience,” Control said, rather disbelievingly.

“Not at all,” Connie said. “Just practical. No one likes running forever. This’ll make life easier for me, and you get someone who’s got more value to you. Win-win.”

Control paused. She was always pragmatic; she regarded Connie. Shaw watched, carefully.

“Have you heard of ‘Root?’” Control said, slowly.

Connie hesitated.

“Not them,” she said. “Anyone else, but Root’s a special case.”

“You won’t help?”

“Is Root the only other person you want to find?” Connie said. “They’re good. They could walk right into this room and you wouldn’t realize they were there. I won’t help you catch her, but anyone else is fine.”

Control didn’t seem disappointed. No doubt she hadn’t expected Root to be so easily found.

Control leaned forwards, slowly taking a scrap of paper, and neatly writing three names on it. After a few moments she turned it, and offered it to Connie. She took it.

“Those three,” Control said, “For a pardon.”

Connie regarded the three names, then grinned.

“We’ve got a deal,” Connie said.

“And one last thing,” Control said. She gestured to the back of the room, where Shaw still stood; “You’ll be watched. Until you’ve proven your usefulness, you won’t leave our sight.”

“You’re assigning her to babysit me?” Connie said.

“Not in those words,” Control said. “But yes.”

“Sounds perfect,” Connie said.

Shaw didn’t say much. What was there to say? Her soulmate was the third-or-fourth most wanted, and now she had to supervise. She could do that just by keeping her eyes on this Connie Rayleigh.

Not that Shaw believed for a moment that was her real name.

They’d made it out of the building. Shaw kept her gun in one hand, following Connie. Even if this was an absurdly elaborate trap, she’d be able to shoot Connie before anything happened.

It didn’t seem to be, though. Maybe Connie did just want a few less people off her back.

“What’s your real name?” Shaw said.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Connie said.

They kept walking for a little time more. Shaw sighed.

“I need to call you something,” Shaw said.

“What’s wrong with Connie?”

“It’s an alias I highly doubt you’ll keep to,” Shaw said.

“Asking as my soulmate?” Connie said.

Shaw rolled her eyes. She didn’t say anything, and they kept walking. After a few seconds, Connie chuckled.

“What does that say, that your soulmate is public enemy number three, as far as you’re concerned?” Connie said. “Like a bad girl?”

“Don’t mind a bit of excitement,” Shaw said.

Connie kept walking for a little longer. Something seemed to amuse her.

“In that case,” she smiled, “You can call me Root.”


	113. I Object 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is going to be a three-part story based on the most detailed prompt I've received. Huge thanks to the prompter, and enjoy!

Samantha Groves was planning out her dream wedding. She’d heard it was something of a cliché, but she enjoyed it nonetheless.

A perfect dress, a veil, and a nice big aisle. Ideally a fairly big list of invitees, all gathered together for that special day. A handpicked bouquet, every flower chosen specifically. That was what it was meant to be, right? The perfect day, planned out in every detail, so that even the smallest aspect could be looked back on with a smile.

But then, Samantha had never been entirely conventional.

She’d been planning her wedding since she could read, and since she’d looked down at her chest and seen _I object_. She did a little research, and by the look of it the best places to hear those words were either in a courtroom, or a wedding.

If she was fated to meet someone, she might as well take control of where.

A trial might be easier to arrange, but it was both riskier and less likely to succeed. After all, why would the first thing she heard from a lawyer be an objection?

So her first choice was a wedding. The perfect day, with the food, the attendees, and the dress all planned out, all to end with her soulmate rushing down the aisle with an objection.

Samantha didn’t worry about what the objection would be. That wasn’t the important part.

She had a whole box full of magazines for tips. It was the day she’d meet her soulmate, after all; not many people had a chance to know that in advance. As she did, she wanted it to be perfect.

A groom or bride standing next to her (it didn’t really matter which, she hardly needed to be attracted to them, they were just a means to an end), a nice and elegant dress, and the whole choreographed ceremony coming to a screeching halt with an “I object!”

Hey, a girl had a right to her wedding fantasies.

She struggled to remember her fiancée’s name, to be honest. He was just dull. Leon-something, maybe. That made it easier; he went along with it way too easily. Samantha just slipped the suggestion to one of his friends, and he proposed, and she was on her way.

In a way, she’d expected it to be harder. Maybe people were just easy to manipulate, or maybe the universe was giving her a helping hand. It was fated, after all.

The wedding took a while to plan. No one seemed to mind; everyone expected her to want it to be perfect.

She chose the setting: a nice, spacious church. When checking out venues, the doors were at the top of her checklist. The sound the front doors made when they opened was suitably dramatic.

Maybe her soulmate would already be in the crowd, rather than bursting in through the doors, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

She picked a dress that was both beautiful, and easy to move in. It was entirely possible she’d end up running from the ceremony.

Samantha spent far less time planning the reception. It was almost amusing, the expressions of the wedding planners she worked with. Samantha wanted to micromanage everything, right up to the moment of _speak now for forever hold your peace_. Anything after that, who cared?

She made sure that the buffet table for the reception was between the ceremony and the car park though, and that there were a few more portable snacks. May as well get some benefit from it.

Then she sent out save-the-dates, her fiancée watching her smile and not knowing she was wondering whether any of the names she was writing down would be her soulmate. Or maybe they’d be a plus-one, that would be fun. Two relationships ruined in one day.

All in all, it was five months before the big day.

Root had the biggest grin on her face as she awoke. No cold feet; she wasn’t becoming Mrs Something-or-Other, she was meeting her soulmate, and that had to end well.

She’d noted down the date, time and address, keeping the card with her at all times. Her plan was simple enough; when she heard that fateful _I Object_ spoken, she’d read the contents of the card. A date, time and address for her soulmate to follow back to her.

When Samantha heard the crowd coming in, she took a brief moment to reread the card, whispering the message under her breath. Then she left it behind, content she could remember it.

There were butterflies in her stomach as she walked down the aisle. Her friend Hanna was giving her away; Hanna had been around for the years of planning and speculating, ever since Samantha had decided how she was to meet her soulmate.

Just as Samantha had imagined it.

The wedding march filled her ears, and she reached the front of the church. She shared an excited look with Hanna, and Hanna smiled back.

Samantha looked at her fiancée, doing her best to hide how her eyes kept darting sideways to the doors. Soon…

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

Was there anyone in the audience who looked uncomfortable? Samantha scanned them, idly deciding who her favourite was. There were a lot of people she hadn’t spoken to.

Or there was the door, of course. Someone to burst in, having read the time and date from their tattoo.

Samantha had memorized the whole speech, so she knew what was coming. She glanced at the clock, remembering that time. She was shaking with anticipation when the priest got to her favourite part of the speech. She’d had to insist he include it; somehow that had been the hardest part of the whole plan.

“If anyone can show just cause why these two people cannot lawfully be joined, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Samantha glanced outwards, and waited. And waited.

And as the priest continued, her smile slowly began to fade. That was supposed to be it; it was supposed to be over.

Shit. Apparently she was actually getting married.

She enjoyed the reception, at least. She liked the food. Then she made her excuses, locking herself in the bathroom for a few minutes with a pickpocketed phone.

She frantically googled for a divorce attorney. After about half a minute though, panic was replaced by a new purpose. Ok, maybe she wasn’t meeting her soulmate, but this didn’t need to be a complete bust.

Samantha changed tack, opting to find the most ruthless divorce lawyer she could, rather than one that could just get this over with. She might as well make the most of the situation. Her new husband (oh she hated the sound of that) had a fair bit of money, anyway.

She memorized a name, a phone number, an address, and phoned to make an appointment before straightening and walking back out to the ceremony, slipping the phone onto a table after deleting her search history.

“What the hell happened, Sam?” Hanna came up beside her. “I thought someone was supposed to interrupt.”

“Me too,” Samantha said.

A brief pause.

“Congratulations?” Hanna said, sceptically. “Have to say, I don’t think it’ll last.”

“Me neither,” Samantha said.

“You’re planning something,” Hanna said. “I know that voice.”

“I’m keeping the money,” Samantha said, smiling.

Hanna left early, coming back with a change of clothes, and Samantha snuck out with her just as people were beginning to leave. Once she was out of the dress and had messed her hair up slightly, it was impressive how few people recognized her.

Then again, she hadn’t really socialized with her husband’s friends. He’d just been a means to an end; it was just that those ends had changed.

Hanna took Samantha to her car, and Samantha drove off alone, making it to the address she’d memorized. She spent the night in a motel.

Hanna kept her updated with a few videos and titbits from the wedding, and the ever-growing freak-out about where Samantha had gone.

Meanwhile, Samantha waited for her appointment to come up. It was only a day away. Entertained by Hanna’s stories, she met her divorce lawyer with a smile.

“Call me David,” he said, shaking her hand and gesturing for her to sit. “How can I help?”

“You help with divorces, right?” Samantha said. “Let’s just say I made a bit of a mistake.”

“Heard it before,” David said.

“I want to take him for everything he’s worth,” Samantha said. “Heard you can help with that.”

“Certainly,” for the first time, David smiled. It was almost predatory; at that moment Samantha knew she was in good hands. “How long has the marriage lasted?”

Samantha paused, glancing at her watch.

“Almost twenty hours,” she said.

David paused.

“I was going to ask if there were children to consider, but I’m going to say no,” he said.

“Definitely not,” Samantha said. “Is that a problem?”

“If you want to leave him after under a day, there are a few more legal challenges that could be posed,” David said. “An annulment might be possible, if-”

“Would I get his money if it was annulled?”

David paused. He nodded, conceding.

“I’ll need an estimate of his net worth, if I decide to take your case,” David said. “And I have to ask how far you’ll want me to go. Some clients can be, let’s say squeamish, about what can be required to do well in a tricky case.”

Samantha smiled. She’d heard that; it was why he’d been picked as her divorce lawyer. He had a (strictly unproven) reputation for not being averse to underhanded tricks.

Well, it couldn’t hurt.

“I’m happy with anything,” Samantha said. “Do we have a deal?”

“Absolutely.”

Four months later, Samantha walked out of the building happily single, and considerably richer. Hanna waited for her just outside.

“What are you planning to do next, Sam?” she said.

“Still haven’t met my soulmate,” Samantha said.

“You want to do the whole thing again?”

“Had to compromise on a few details of the wedding,” Samantha said. “Would like to see how they’d go for real. Besides, I do have to meet them.”

“And there might be another profitable divorce in your future.”

“There might be,” Samantha said.


	114. I Object 2

She’d stopped going by Samantha years ago. Background checks were a pain; luckily she was adept at creating a whole new identity.

She was married as Samantha Groves once more, before changing names, and fashioning herself an online persona that was above reproach. She’d always been good with computers; it didn’t take much to slip her new alias into the right lists.

With all the names she went by, she liked having something personal, something that was hers. That was why she started going by Root with the few people that she stayed in contact with between identities; so she’d have a name that wouldn’t change within the year.

She’d been disappointed after her second and third marriages, but after that she grew to expect it.

Maybe her soulmate just wouldn’t turn up. It had taken them long enough, after all; perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be.

But, regardless, she was making money. It wasn’t a total loss. She kept David as her divorce lawyer; he seemed more amused than anything when she came in with name after name and spouse after spouse. Well, he probably didn’t mind having a regular client.

“Mr Lee,” she said, walking into his office.

“Hello, Miss…” he said, as though talking to a stranger. Root chuckled.

“Caroline Turing,” she said.

“Lovely to meet you. How can I help you today?”

“I’d like to leave my wife,” Root said. “Georgia’s nice, but you know how it is.”

And a few months later she’d be back.

“Jane von Neumann,” she said. “I came straight here. Any chance of being able to divorce my husband?”

It was an advantage to having an unscrupulous divorce lawyer. She could book an appointment for right after the ceremony, and most of the process of divorce would be greatly simplified when there was no need to avoid blackmail.

There were a lot of dark secrets in everyone’s life, and for that matter plenty that could be convincingly fabricated. David’s firm had a good investigator, so they had a natural edge.

Root was happy enough with how her life was going. Hanna was the only constant to her various weddings, enjoying the food and company and thrill of the con, over and over. Somewhere along the line it stopped being about finding a soulmate.

Root wasn’t too worried though, even after everything. She’d taken precautions. No one had yet managed to connect any of her disparate identities. There were a few close calls, when she ran into someone who’d used to know her, but she usually could evade the discussion.

“Who’s next, Root?” Hanna said.

Root scrolled down a list of potential candidates. She couldn’t go after high-profile people, or particularly rich ones; the former would make it hard for her to do this again, while the latter could hire actually-good lawyers. Still, they had to have some cash.

“Ooh, let’s say him,” Root said, tapping the profile of one ‘Michael Cole.’

She’d gotten it down to an art. Playful meet cute, discussion, usually don’t bother meeting friends etc, and either plant the idea of marriage, or propose herself if she got impatient.

That time, she didn’t even consider the possibility of her soulmate.

* * *

Sameen Shaw did not do weddings. She just stared at the invitation that had landed on her doormat.

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of Veronica Sinclair and Michael Cole_.

Who the hell was Veronica?

She hadn’t seen Cole for a while. They’d been in the army together, and they’d gotten on, but Shaw was terrible at keeping in touch with friends. She hadn’t even known he was seeing someone.

Still, she replied. In a temporary fit of madness she agreed to attend; it’d be good to visit Cole again, if nothing else.

It was a day before she grew curious, and took to researching. If one of her few friends was getting married, she at least wanted to know who to. She had a name: that was a good start.

Veronica looked nice enough. Shaw would admit that she could see what Cole saw in her. Some part of her instinctively rebelled at the idea though.

She wasn’t a fan of marriage, and if nothing else she wanted to make extra sure her friend knew what he was getting into.

It was a day before her research started in earnest. It began innocently enough: a quick background check, a gauge of her online personality. Most people had social media these days.

Then Shaw made a few phone calls; businesses and places that Veronica had been involved with. All recognized the name, though none had been invited to the wedding.

It was a potential red flag, if she was being very paranoid. It wouldn’t normally be an issue, but she remembered covert ops well enough. Take the name of someone who looked similar to you, most references would check out, but you wouldn’t actually know or be friends with any of them. So, for example, you wouldn’t invite them to your wedding. They’d blow your cover easily.

But that was paranoia talking. Maybe Veronica just didn’t like them. Shaw could sympathize with that.

Shaw took another look at a photo of Veronica she’d found, and decided to keep digging. Most investigators would stop at a cursory examination of a cover; it was usually thorough enough to weed out aliases, but someone sufficiently talented could fool them.

This was stupid.

Shaw took a step back, considering. Was there any real need for her to do this? It was unlikely there’d be an actual problem, and she’d have to do quite a bit of research if she was going to find anything suspicious, if Veronica had a good enough identity to be able to get married.

But then, she did feel defensive of the few friends she had. And what harm could it do, really? There was enough of a red flag for her to have something to go on.

Well, she needed a hobby.

“Just who are you, Veronica?”


	115. I Object 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part!

The ceremony had been planned in much the same way as the others. It was tradition for Root, at this point. The line inviting objections was included, even if she no longer expected one. She picked a dress, and picked the same kind of spacious church.

Wedding planning was easy by now, though. She’d had plenty of practise.

She stayed in her room as the crowd trickled in. She could hear the voices, and the footsteps. She didn’t have the same butterflies she’d had the first time though, not after going through this so many times.

She had an appointment booked with her divorce lawyer in a couple of hours’ time. She planned to make it.

* * *

Shaw was one of the first to make it to the ceremony. She’d brought a laptop case with her, and instead of a computer she’d filled it with files and photos.

Sure, you could steal a social security number and the like from someone else, if you really wanted to create a new identity, but that was only the first step.

If you wanted to adopt the identity, you’d need to know details. If you wanted to adopt several identities, you’d want there to be shared aspects, even if it was something as simple as a birth date. People had trouble remembering birthdays as it was; changing your own often wasn’t easy.

So Shaw just needed to check the women born on that same date as Veronica, in the space of a few years. It had taken a while, but it had been worth it. It was remarkable just how many had the same face as Veronica, and how many had been married and swiftly divorced taking an astonishing amount of money with them.

Shaw tried to hurry to the back rooms, to find Cole, when she was stopped.

“Hey, seats are over there,” a woman said.

“And you are?” Shaw said.

“Hanna. Friend of the bride,” she said. “And you?”

“Shaw. Friend of the groom. You know your friend’s not who she says she is, right?”

Hanna paused. For a moment, she seemed uncertain.

“Really?” Hanna said, slowly.

“I’ve got the proof,” Shaw said. “Divorce settlements, marriage announcements, multiple identities, IDs, photos… What is her name, anyway? Veronica? Caroline? Jane? Samantha? Karen? Rose?”

Hanna stared for a few seconds more.

“What are you, police?” Hanna said.

“Just a friend of Cole,” Shaw said. “I’m not going to let your friend do what she’s done to all the others.”

Hanna regarded Shaw. She’d stopped being worried, at least. The law was all she was concerned about.

“That’s a little obsessive,” Hanna said.

“What?”

“Tracking down all those names,” Hanna said. “I know my friend - her name’s Root by the way – and she can’t have made it easy.”

“Does it matter?” Shaw said.

“Enjoy researching?” Hanna said, an odd smile on her face.

“What are you talking about?”

“You must’ve dedicated a lot of time to looking into Root,” Hanna said. “Guessing you enjoyed it.”

“Seriously, what?” Shaw said. “Is this just your way of delaying me? You won’t stop me.”

“Not planning to.”

Shaw looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. She took a step, starting past Hanna, when Hanna grabbed her arm.

“You said you wouldn’t stop me,” Shaw said.

“I won’t,” Hanna said, “But it’s a wedding. There’s an accepted way to crash it.”

Shaw paused.

“You’re giving me tips on how to ruin your friend’s wedding?” Shaw said.

“Just want to make sure it’s done properly,” Hanna said. “Just wait for the ‘speak now or forever hold your peace,’ then do whatever you want.”

Shaw stood there for a few moments more. Something about Hanna’s smile was annoying her, but at least it didn’t seem malevolent.

Worst case she was going to encourage Root to flee, but Shaw could live with that.

“Fine,” Shaw said, stepping back.

* * *

Root stood and twirled on the spot. She’d been through a lot of wedding dresses, but she did like this one. She didn’t jump when the door to her room opened.

“Is it time?” Root said.

“Nearly,” Hanna said.

Root smiled, and turned. “You look happy.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” Hanna said.

“Find out about a secret bank account?”

“Not exactly,” Hanna said.

She didn’t say anything more. Root shrugged it off.

* * *

The wedding march swelled, and Root walked down the aisle feigning serenity. Her feet were itching to get out of her heels, and to hurry off to her lawyer’s office.

She stood at the front, in front of- was it Michael? That sounded right. She tuned out the priest’s recitation, tired of hearing the same old speech. She just waited for it to be over.

“I object!”

Root nearly fell over. She tried to remember what had been happening; right, so the priest had been droning on, the same call for objections she’d heard way too many times, and-

Wait, someone had actually objected?

Root turned slowly, to look at who’d spoken. Right, so she’d always planned to give the date and time and address to her soulmate, so-

“Shaw, what-” probably-Michael said.

“Her name’s not Veronica,” Shaw said, standing and walking down. She brought a sheaf of papers out of a case.

Root glanced back. She was fairly sure she’d just seen Hanna cheer. Had she known-

“She’s left a trail of people through the country,” Shaw said. “Married, divorced, and left with next to nothing. I’ve got the proof.”

Michael looked at the countless sheets that Shaw held. Names, various faces and photos, and most notably the divorce settlements Root was rather proud of.

Ok, so she could probably cancel her appointment with David.

Root stared. Despite the interruption, Root would admit to being somewhat impressed. Not many people could have tracked down many of her old identities, much less done so fully. Root couldn’t see any name she’d taken omitted.

“Root?” Michael said, warily.

Root was looking at Shaw. In her head, she could still hear the _I object_. Figured the one time it’d happen would be when it caught her by surprise.

She turned her gaze from the evidence, to Shaw herself.

It made sense. Soulmates were meant to be a perfect match; a true equal. Shaw had pretty much proven she was that.

“So?” Shaw said, “Anything to say?”

“Kiss kiss to you too, sweetheart,” Root said, beaming.

Evidently her original plan was pretty pointless. Shaw didn’t need any guide here; and apparently there was no planning around fate anyway.

That, and it was somewhat impressive when realization passed across Shaw’s face, recognizing the words Root had spoken. She went off on a slight tirade, giving a fascinating tour of various four-letter words in multiple languages. Root watched, endlessly entertained. The priest behind her slowly backed away.

“You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been waiting to hear an objection,” Root said. Absently, she chucked her bouquet to Shaw. “Seriously. About time you showed up.”

Shaw swore again, and batted the bouquet to the floor. A baffled Michael watched.

“Something wrong sweetie?” Root said.

There were probably better ways to flirt with someone than at the altar about to marry their best friend, but Root had always been tired of conventional.

“Seriously?” Shaw said. “You want to do this now?”

“Have a quiet room a little way that way if you’d prefer to do this in private,” Root said.

She tugged her veil off. It did make conversation trickier; and regardless, this wedding was definitely over. Well, unless Shaw could change her opinion of Root in record time, then they might be able to salvage it, but Root doubted it.

Shaw raised her eyebrows. Michael opened his mouth to speak.

“We’re soulmates,” Root said to him, her tone the same as if she was discussing the weather.

There was a much longer pause, and a much more disbelieving expression on Shaw’s space. Oh, well apparently she had wanted to have that particular discussion in private.

Michael looked between his fiancée and Shaw. After a couple of moments he began to back away.

“Want to get married?” Root suggested.

“No.”

“Sure?” Root said. “You caught the bouquet.”

“You threw it at me.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Root said. “Just be a shame to waste all of this.”

“You just tried to con my friend.”

“And now I’ve met you and I don’t need to any more,” Root said. “Leave the past in the past.”

Shaw stared.

“You may now kiss the bride?” Root suggested.

Shaw continued to stare.

There was no raised platform. Root stood, without Cole now, at the front of the church, with Shaw rather close to her. Taking advantage of the distraction, and Shaw’s continuing internal debate as to whether Root could be serious, Hanna sidestepped and moved closer to the aisle.

She pushed Shaw, and Shaw toppled forward into Root. Shaw hastily pulled herself back up, straightening and getting to her feet.

“Thanks Hanna,” Root said.

Another glare from Shaw. Root dropped her voice.

“Kinda romantic, if you think about it,” Root said.

“What, marrying and conning an army buddy of mine?”

“Us,” Root said. “You tracked me down, found all my little secrets, and exposed me. Not many people could manage that. And you must’ve felt something, if you went through so much effort to find out about me. So what do you say?”

“I’m _not_ marrying you,” Shaw said.

“Fine, we’ll take it slow,” Root said. “I don’t fancy getting married again for a bit.”

Shaw continued to glare.

“Fine, Ver- Caro-” Shaw began, and paused. “What the hell is your name anyway?”

“Not really had one for a while,” Root said. “Only thing’s what Hanna calls me. No one else uses it.”

“Well I need to call you something, and you’re definitely not Veronica.”

“Then call me Root,” she said.


	116. November 7th 2009, 18:37

Root looked at calendar, intrigued. It was November 6th, the day before the date given on her tattoo. She’d been looking forward it to a while.

_Edgar Street New York, November 7 th, 2009, 18:37_. She always thought her soulmate was considerate, for that; not many people knew exactly what time to wait for. She knew when and where to meet her soulmate.

She barely slept that night, and when she woke up she spent the day excited, until finally 6pm came around. She made her way right to Edgar Street, arriving ten minutes early. Luckily she lived in New York.

Root stood by the edge of the street, waiting impatiently. She let her eyes linger on anyone that walked nearby, disappointed when any particularly attractive person didn’t head for the street.

She kept glancing at her watch, waiting.

18:34, 18:35, 18:36, 18:37

Root looked around, jumping at the nearest passer-by.

“Uh, hey?” she said.

They looked at her, slightly confused, and hurried on. Root hesitated.

She waited a few minutes more. Her watch wouldn’t necessarily be synced with her soulmate’s after all. When seven o’clock came and went, though, reluctantly she had to face the fact her soulmate was a no-show.

Root came back to the street the next day, just in case there was a miscommunication. When still no one showed up, she went home, baffled.

Was there any other reason she’d hear such a precise time and place, if it wasn’t meant to be a meeting? Was there something she’d missed?

But nothing presented itself, and no one turned up.

* * *

Shaw didn’t want a soulmate. She’d always planned a way to discourage them, if they did meet (which apparently was inevitable, so it paid to be prepared).

“Hey, can I sit here sweetie?”

Shaw slumped onto the table. It had been a good few years, at least.

“Edgar Street, New York, November 7th 2009, 18:37,” Shaw recounted, picking the date at random.

There was a pause. The woman slowly moved to sit down by the table.

“You didn’t show,” she said, accusingly.

“I know,” Shaw said. “I was out of the country.”

“Why?”

“Making sure.”

There was a pause. Shaw had hoped it would have been enough for her soulmate to just stand up, walk away, and leave her alone. No such luck apparently.

“Really, why?” the woman said.

“To get rid of you.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t want a soulmate,” Shaw said. “I figure standing someone up’s a good way to end a relationship. Did it work?”

The woman hesitated, looking at Shaw for a long few seconds.

“You gave me a tattoo to try and avoid dealing with me?” the woman said.

“Haven’t we been over that?” Shaw said.

“I’m kinda impressed,” the woman said. “I’m Root.”

“I’m not looking for an introduction.”

“Too bad,” Root said. “Not sure I want to give up on you that easily.”

“I do.”

“But you put so much thought into us, sweetie,” Root said.


	117. What the Hell Are You Doing Here? 2

Root helped Shaw carry the painting out of the building. They moved with surprising stealth through the corridors, lugging it along with them. It was easier to carry with two people.

One might have been able to manage it, but not as quickly.

“I hope you know, I’m keeping this,” Root said.

“Yeah, yeah, feel free to try,” Shaw said.

“Competitive? I like it.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Still, she kept hold of it. Both of them wanted to keep the painting in good condition. It was worth much more like that.

“So, which one of us gets it?” Root said. “Race was meant to decide it, but we got to it at the same time.”

“Will you shut up?” Shaw said, her voice hushed.

“Rude.”

“Guards,” Shaw said. “This would be a lot easier if you weren’t shouting our location out to them.”

“I’m not shouting,” Root said, raising her voice.

Shaw raised her eyebrows, and together they quickly darted over to one side, slipping out behind a door as a torch beam came around the corner.

Root shut the door quickly and silently, using her foot to slow it as it swung closed. She and Shaw stayed perfectly still, still holding the painting, as the guard moved by.

“Was that quip worth it?” Shaw mouthed, disbelieving.

“Absolutely,” Root mouthed, smirking.

When the guard had moved on, they were out of the room again, carefully manoeuvring the painting. Getting in to steal it wasn’t the hard part; getting out was.

All the versatility of methods they had to sneak through windows or through skylights was useless when trying to sneak a frame and canvas this big out. Most of the windows in the building couldn’t take it.

“Want to share the profits?” Root said.

“No.”

“Split the painting in two?” Root said. “Half each.”

“Definitely no.”

“Then what, fight it out?” Root said. “Rock paper scissors? Coin toss?”

“I’m thinking, hit you on your head until you pass out, and take it,” Shaw said.

“Not sure I like that idea.”

“Tough.”

Somehow they made it out the building with a minimum of close calls. Shaw did her best to look around, ignoring how Root kept looking past the frame, staring at her.

There were two vans parked side by side outside. Both of them instinctively began moving towards them.

“You parked here too?” Root said.

“Good location.”

“Guess we really are soulmates,” Root said. She smiled. “If you needed any more confirmation.”

Shaw groaned.

“If I let you have the painting, will you shut up?” Shaw said.

Root paused for a moment, considering it. Wouldn’t be too much fun, but the painting was worth a lot.

“Maybe.”

Shaw sighed in relief. She took a step back, letting go of the painting, and watching Root almost fall over trying to keep it up. Shaw would admit to enjoying that sight.

“Well, thanks sweetie,” Root said, uncertainly.

Root moved to balance the back of the painting against her van, trying to find her keys.

“I said shut up,” Shaw said.

Root unlocked the back of her van, sliding the painting inside. Shaw moved behind her, helping her; neither of them wanted to see it damaged. Root felt her move awfully close.

Then, stepping back, Root mimed zipping her lips closed. Shaw rolled her eyes, and paced away.

Root took a few moments to make sure the painting was fully secure, and inside. Carefully, she moved back, closing the back doors.

It was only as she walked around the side, to the driver’s seat, that she realized she seemed to be missing her car keys. She caught a glimpse of Shaw’s face in the wing mirror, before her car’s engine started.

“Hey!” Root shouted.

Shaw snorted, only to reverse. Root hurried out the way, only able to watch as Shaw took the painting, and her car along with it.

She stood there for a long few seconds. Soon irritation gave way to amusement; well, it figured her soulmate would do something like that.

Chuckling to herself, Root picked up a brick, and broke her way into Shaw’s van. If nothing else she could hotwire it, and get out of here. Ideally though, maybe she’d find a way to track her soulmate down.

Whatever happened, it promised to be fun.


	118. Something the Matter?

Shaw didn’t share food. It was her personal little rule; if she paid for it, she’d eat it. And sure, maybe she did just like the food. Still.

As such, she was rather looking forward to her lunch. There was a nice little café in the corner of town, with some of the best snacks she’d had anywhere. And she wasn’t much for ambience, but even that was entertaining enough. Bustling, just not disturbing, and not quaint.

She didn’t get out here too much, but she’d memorized her meal order when she did. There was a slice that most places didn’t seem to do, and the few that did were never as nice.

Ordering a coffee along with it, she sat down, quite happily looking forward to her snack.

Then “Sorry,” and some busybody rushed past her table, elbowing her forwards and sending her coffee cup flying and spilling, soaking and ruining the slice.

It took Shaw a good couple of seconds to fully realize just what had happened. She moved to stand, turning to try and identify the man before he disappeared into the crowd. A growl escaped her lips.

“Something the matter?”

Shaw stiffened, turning back slowly to see a patron on an adjacent table looking at her, and speaking words that Shaw knew very well.

Of course. It figured today would be the day she met her soulmate. Still, Shaw bit back a cutting remark, before pausinh. She needed to vent, and if she could vent to anyone surely it’d be her soulmate?

“I’m going to kill him,” Shaw said. “Find him, and kill him. Slowly.”

The woman blinked for a moment, then chuckled.

“I’m Root,” she said. “And you, my ball of rage?”

“Shaw,” another growl as she examined the remains of her lunch. “I’m going to pour boiling coffee over every inch of his body. Then start all over again.”

“Mm-hmm,” Root said. “Come here often?”

“When I can,” Shaw said. She gestured at the remains on the table. “Best snack out there. Hence plotting a murder.”

“It’s not that bad,” Root said.

“I’m going to skin him,” Shaw said.

Root hesitated.

“With a pin,” Shaw said. “Something small, so I can really take my time.”

“Is this before or after the boiling coffee?”

“What?”

“Just curious,” Root said, absently. “Want to go out sometime?”

“I’ll lock him up and starve him,” Shaw said. “See how he likes it. Give him a diet of needles and tacks, then run him under one of those magnetic cranes.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“I’ll drown him,” Shaw said. “In boiling water. Or acid. Boiling acid.”

“I could just buy you a replacement.”

“Make him _suffer_ ,” Shaw said.

Shaw paused.

“What?” Shaw said, eventually.

“Replacement,” Root said. “Snack. Coffee. Seems like it’d take care of your problem.”

Shaw hesitated.

“We’re soulmates, remember?” Root said. “Consider it a first date.”

Shaw looked at her for a long few seconds. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the world at large for the last minute or so, rather caught up in her own fantasies.

She really didn’t like losing food.

“I guess,” Shaw said. After a moment: “You’re not bothered?”

Shaw would admit, she had half-expected her soulmate to run for the hills. There were probably more encouraging first words to hear.

“Always admired imagination,” Root said. “Though didn’t really think about it in that context. At least you’re creative, good trait to have.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re very welcome,” Root said.

She beamed, and picked up Shaw’s empty up, scribbling a number on the side of it.

“Call me,” she said. “Ideally when you’re in a bit of a better mood.”


	119. Well This Is Awkward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a plane home today, so I'll try to reply to comments etc by tomorrow, more or less, if I'm awake.

Root slipped in through the back window of the house. She’d seen a few vaguely interesting possessions through the window, and if nothing else most homes had computers in these days. Once she could get through the log-in screen, there were a lot of useful things she could access.

She’d watched the family that lived there depart, so she knew the house was empty. Two men and a woman; that probably meant there were three computers to look for.

She silently moved up the stairs. There was no need to risk making extra noise, in case there was someone she hadn’t spotted, or anyone came home early.

She found one computer out on the living room table. Apparently one of the people used theirs a lot. She slipped that one into her bag, casting her eyes around for the charger, and taking that too.

She went through into one of the bedrooms, only to pause when she saw a black-clad woman kneeling and rooting through a somewhat impressive gun collection at the back of a wardrobe.

Ok, Root reflected, stumbling in on someone when burgling a house was a problem. Stumbling in on someone with their hands in an army’s worth of weapons was a disaster.

“Turn around, and leave,” the crouching woman said.

Root blinked. And meeting her soulmate when burgling a house was somewhere between the two.

Slowly though, Root paused. The homeowner would threaten to shoot her, surely? It was almost an ideal situation, it was rare the homeowner could get access to any weapons before she could cut them off, and yet they were doing nothing.

Which probably meant this wasn’t the homeowner. Root took in the woman’s clothes; dark, practical, and what she was slowly realizing was a bag screwed up.

“Well this is awkward,” Root said. “Burgling this place too?”

The woman slowly drew back. She withdrew one particular gun, even if she didn’t point it; it seemed she just liked the make.

“Saw he had a good collection,” the woman said. “Figured I’d help myself. You?”

“Just general stuff,” Root said. “Mostly computers. I’ll leave the guns to you.”

“Then we won’t have a problem,” the woman said.

Still, Root approached the desk a little nervously. When robbing a house, a woman filling a bag up with various guns wasn’t the most encouraging background event.

She picked up a laptop, tugging the charger cable free to go along with it, slipping it into the laptop case she’d brought ready. There were probably more.

Still, before she left the room, she turned back to the woman.

“I’m Root, by the way.”

The woman looked back, semi-incredulously.

“Relax,” Root said, “Hardly going to turn you in. ‘Hi, I caught so-and-so stealing a bunch of guns when I was trying to steal the computers.’ Won’t end well for either of us.”

A longer pause.

“Shaw,” the woman said, curtly.

“Nice name,” Root said. “So, sweetie, gun-obsessed or do you just know a good buyer?”

“Little of both,” Shaw said.

She was still crouched, on her knees, carefully going through the collection. Now that Root could look closer, she could see two bags; presumably one was for selling, and one was for Shaw’s personal collection.

Root watched the bent-over figure rather appreciatively. Shaw glanced back.

“Are you really checking me out?” Shaw said. “Now?”

“Seems like a perfect time from where I’m standing,” Root said.

“We’re in someone else’s house,” Shaw said. “Don’t be an idiot. They could come home any time.”

“Worth it,” Root said. “Little risk’s what makes life fun, don’t you think?”

After a few moments, Shaw stood up. She rounded on Root, moving a little closer. It was slightly aggressive, but more than anything it seemed curious.

If nothing else, it seemed they had a lot in common: shared interests, shared tastes.

“You like risk?” Shaw said.

Root closed the distance between them and kissed her, hard. It was a few seconds before she pulled back, with a smirk that made Shaw want to pull someone’s hair out. Either her own or Root’s, she wasn’t entirely sure.

“That answer your question?” Root said.

Shaw moved closer and kissed her back, ever so slightly harder.

* * *

Root awoke to the sound of someone clearing their throat. She blinked, vaguely aware of the warmth lying beside her. Blearily she opened her eyes, seeing dark hair, and skin. A lot of skin.

Vaguely, she started to remember. Shaw, the kiss, somehow making it to the bed in the corner of the room, and-

Someone cleared their throat again. Root turned, uncertainly. A man in a suit was standing in the doorway to the room, distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’m John,” he said, and paused. “Did Harold invite you? He didn’t mention…”

Root hesitated. She was vaguely aware of Shaw shifting next to her.

“Was it Grace…” John’s voice trailed off.

Apparently he didn’t know quite what to make of this situation. Root would admit, it was a new one.

She opted for honesty, and a cheerful smile.

“Nah,” Root said, “We’re just very lazy burglars.”

She glanced sideways. Well, at least her case and Shaw’s bag were out of sight behind a cabinet. John chuckled, apparently thinking it was a joke.

“For future reference, guest room’s down the hall,” John said. “This is my room. I’ll… leave you two alone for a bit. I’ll tell Grace you arrived.”

He turned around, tactfully closing the door. Root moved to nudge Shaw, deciding not to only when she saw Shaw’s eyes open.

“Ok, how did he buy that?” Shaw said.

“I’ve got an honest face,” Root said.

Shaw snorted, rolling out of bed. She hurriedly grabbed for her clothes.

“Better get out,” Shaw said.

“Kicking me out of bed already?” Root said.

“You’re welcome to make nice with the family you tried to steal from,” Shaw said. “Personally I’ve got a date with that window.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Give it a rest, Root.”

Root hurriedly dressed herself too, collecting her case and set of two stolen computers. Hopefully they still had a minute before the homeowners realized they were more than misplaced.

Shaw was already halfway out the window.

“We should do this again sometime,” Root said.

“Rob a house together, screw each other in their bed, or nearly get caught?”

“First two, at least,” Root said.

Shaw chuckled.

“That a yes?” Root said.

Shaw just dropped out of sight. Root quickly followed.


	120. This is Not Your Captain Speaking 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back home! Just sorting out everything.

Root lay back on the beach, relaxing. She glanced sideways to Shaw, who seemed just as laid back. They’d successfully diverted a plane, ensured a shipment got to the people who’d hired them, and escaped.

Now they were just waiting for the rest of their payment. Shaw had insisted it was just more practical if they waited together.

Besides, they might as well enjoy their destination while they were here. Well, there was a nearby beach at any rate.

“I’m learning Morse code,” Root said, eventually.

Shaw grunted vaguely, just lying on her back.

“It’d make things easier,” Root said. “You’ve got to admit. Wouldn’t have gotten quite so out of control if we had.”

“I doubt anything would’ve saved that,” Shaw said.

“Turned out well enough though,” Root said.

Root lay back, basking in the Sun; Shaw snorted.

“You’ve got low standards,” Shaw said.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Root said, eyeing Shaw openly. “Don’t put yourself down.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, opting not to respond. She looked up at the sky for a long few seconds.

“Low standards of _success_ ,” Shaw said, eventually. “We nearly crashed a plane, and accidentally killed the co-pilot. Intentionally killed the pilot, but it’s the sort of thing that shouldn’t be an accident. Just unprofessional.”

“Then we landed the plane, and I met my soulmate,” Root said. “Still feels like a good day.”

Shaw shifted, closing her eyes. Maybe she and Root were a good team, but after nearly dying, and after the adrenaline had left her system, she could do with a chance to just fall down and relax.

Being in the Sun was a bonus.

After a couple of minutes, she jumped to feel something far too cold drip onto her shoulder. Her eyes opened quickly, only to see Root standing over her, letting sun cream fall from the bottle. Shaw hastily moved to the side.

“I’ll do you if you do me?” Root said, tilting her head.

Shaw stared for a few seconds, then sighed, snatching the bottle from Root.

Root perched herself on the edge of the lounger, and Shaw took a little too much pleasure from hearing her whimper as the cold cream fell onto her back.

“You know this isn’t the safest place to hide out after hijacking a plane, right?” Shaw said.

“Exactly,” Root said. “Who’d look for us here? They’re going to be combing safe-houses and shelters, not looking for a couple of girls having a good time at the beach. You didn’t complain anyway.”

“Wanted a break,” Shaw said. “Just pointing out that I’m going to blame you if we get caught.”

“I’ll survive.”

After a few moments more, Shaw finished rubbing Root’s back. She leant back, and Root turned around with a smile on her face, picking up the bottle.

“Your turn,” Root said.

“Not happening.”

“It’s basic safety,” Root pouted. “You need sun cream.”

“I’ll lie on my back,” Shaw said. “Don’t think I trust you with that.”

“You trust me to navigate the plane you’re flying, but not to rub your back?” Root said. “Think your priorities are a little skewed, sweetie.”

“Don’t play innocent.”

“Never,” Root said. After a few seconds, she moved back to her own lounger. “Let me know if you change your mind.”


	121. Call Me

Root was always excited when she got a phone call. She’d pick the phone up, and wait a few seconds. Inevitably though, she seemed to end up disappointed.

She had a plan. When she met her soulmate, she’d give her phone number. It ought to speed things up. That way she’d get a call, and they could arrange a meeting, or at the very least just talk.

Every time she got a new phone or landline, she memorized the new number in minutes. It wouldn’t do to meet her soulmate and not know what to say.

Still, there was nothing. No call, no alert. She did wonder about that, sometimes. Maybe her soulmate had called before Root had gotten the right phone, or maybe they were due the next time she changed numbers.

Root drove into a parking space, hurriedly turning in before another car could. There were too few spaces available as it was.

She got out of the car, and was just about to walk to the exit when she heard a distant voice. She turned, to see the driver of the other car having apparently found their own space.

“Well you’re impatient aren’t you?”

They sounded annoyed. Root paused; she’d always known she’d hear those words, though she’d always imagined hearing them in different circumstances.

Very different. Root paused, staying on the spot as the woman grew closer.

Her soulmate had a bit of a temper, then. Probably good to know. Root looked at her, met her eyes, gave a beaming smile and rattled off her phone number in seconds.

“Call me,” Root said cheerily. She waited a few seconds, as though expecting history to rewrite itself. Then, she pouted. “You didn’t call me.”

She’d had that number for a good few years as well. Plenty of time.

“Well I’m done,” the woman said quickly. As quickly as she’d approached, she turned on the spot and began to walk away. Root hurried beside her.

“Not that easy,” Root said. “Why didn’t you call?”

“Why didn’t I call the stranger who’d forced their number onto me?” the woman said. “I wonder.”

“Just have you my number,” Root said. “We’re soulmates. You’ll have to call me sometime.”

“I really don’t,” the woman said. “Not everyone wants a soulmate.”

“I get that.” Root said, “But weren’t you at least a little curious?”

“For a couple of years,” the woman said. “Not enough to call you up every couple of months just to see if you had the number yet. And not any more. You’re not important for me to waste that much time on.”

“Ouch,” Root said. Still, she chuckled. “Fair enough. Figures I’d try to cheat, and get a soulmate who wouldn’t play along.”

There was a brief pause. The woman kept walking, while Root followed. After a few more steps, she sighed.

“What do I call you, anyway?” the woman said.

“Root.”

“I’m Shaw,” she said.

“Did you call me?” Root said, suddenly.

“What? I thought we’d just-”

“I know,” Root said. “But I got a drunk voicemail a few weeks ago. Baffled me at the time.”

“What did it say?”

“Not quite sure,” Root said. “Like I said, she was very drunk. Liked bad language.”

“Might’ve been,” Shaw said, slowly.

“Sound like you, huh?” Root said. “You seem fun.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Root stayed alongside her.


	122. One of Them 2

Shaw climbed the ivy again, Root coming out to help pull her up, over onto the balcony. They were getting quite good at the routine now. Shaw had always been a good climber, but a little extra help never went amiss.

Their first meeting had raised enough ruckus that it had since become trickier. No one wanted them together, so the Capulets had locked the door to Root’s balcony.

It had taken about a minute for Root to pick it. Shaw would admit to being impressed by that. Root had since taken to moving the lock to the door to and from her room, ensuring they’d get privacy.

“So, what happened?” Root said.

Root lay back on her bed. Shaw walked over, joining her and sitting on the side.

“Same speech as ever,” Shaw said. “Mustn’t see you, be seen with you, mustn’t have anyone even think of the two of us…”

“No new ideas then?”

“Not this time.”

Root had enjoyed Shaw’s bloody-mindedness. The moment Shaw was prohibited from doing something with Root, she’d taken to doing exactly that.

It was what had gotten them into this situation, locks and all. Shaw was forbidden from bringing shame to her family by being seen with a Capulet, just as Root was banned from being seen to a Montague.

There had also been a nice, huge public dance looming. It wasn’t Shaw’s scene, but she was happy to make an exception and be seen with Root by a sizeable part of each of their families, with rules of decorum preventing any intervention until they left.

They’d kissed rather openly and lengthily as a point to close the night. They’d both enjoyed that; and Shaw had enjoyed the dancing more than she’d admit.

“I’m kinda curious about how much they’d explode if we just walked together,” Root said. “Nothing special, just do down the street.”

“Holding hands?” Shaw said.

“Aww, knew you had a sweet side,” Root said.

“Just looking to piss them off,” Shaw said. “Not really sweet.”

“But yeah,” Root said. “Just look like a regular little couple.”

“Well we are dating,” Shaw said. “Tempted to shout that from the rooftops.”

“Knew you were a romantic.”

Shaw glanced sideways, then snorted. She’d grown used to Root’s odd sense of humour; besides, Root could be endearing, sometimes.

“I’m this close to just getting a priest,” Shaw said. “Bet we could make some of them spontaneously combust.”

“You move fast,” Root said. She hesitated briefly, then smiled. “Would be quite the scandal though. Doubt we’d get away with it.”

“Do you want to get away with it?” Shaw said. “I’m just looking to annoy them.”

“Me too,” Root said, and paused. “But it’s a little more.”

Root looked up to Shaw, suddenly uncertain.

“That ok?”

Shaw looked at her for a few seconds, caught off-guard. It was probably strange that she’d never had much reason to think of Root romantically, even after all the stolen nights and kisses they’d had together.

True, she liked spending time with Root, but that was just out of spite. There didn’t have to be any more. But there could be; and it was fun.

“I guess,” Shaw said. “Though don’t go expecting miracles. You know this isn’t going to work out.”

“Might do if we’re inventive,” Root said. “Could escape.”

“And how’d you plan to escape without them following us?” Shaw said.

“Could fake our deaths.”

Shaw paused for a moment.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she said. “That’d never work. I vote we stick around and see how much more we can annoy everyone. Put that inventiveness to work getting around them.”

“That’s fun too,” Root said.

She leaned up to kiss Shaw’s cheek; Shaw tugged away after a moment.

“Save it for public,” Shaw said.

“I will,” Root said, happily.


	123. Not Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for another historical!

_1941, London_

Sirens wailed. Shaw hurried down the street, mentally mapping out the route to her home. Too far. Instead she slowed, and paused, trying to remember where the nearest station was.

The bombs were coming. Underground was the safest place to be; most houses had a shelter but if she couldn’t reach her own, subway stations were often the best place to go. They’d been repurposed into public shelters.

A lot of people she knew spent the night in them even if the sirens didn’t go off. They were just safer.

Shaw broke into a run, making it to the stairs leading down. She spared the black sky just one more glance. There was no light, not even from the houses.

Once she was down in the station, Shaw relaxed. She heard the rumble of the first bomb falling, but it was too distant to be a threat.

She looked around the crowded station. Almost every metre was occupied by someone; she even spotted hammocks strung up between the rails. Shaw always preferred to stay on the platform though, partly from habit, and partly because it just felt more comfortable.

Slowly, she made her way to a more sparsely packed spot by a wall, slowly sitting down there. Blankets were provided; the bombing was likely to last most of the night. Even if it didn’t, there wouldn’t be much point in leaving.

There was a card game going on not too far from her. A small group of people were sat around a table, with one woman clearly having a far luckier night.

Shaw watched, vaguely amused. There wasn’t much else to do beyond watch people, in shelters like this. She wasn’t nearly social enough to have people to play cards with.

“And that’s it,” the woman said, throwing her cards down. There was general groaning. “I’ll give you guys a break.”

Shaw stiffened as she heard those words. For a moment she considered speaking; then the woman caught sight of her, evidently seeing some odd reaction.

The woman moved closer, stepping over someone who was trying to sleep, getting closer to the wall. She sat herself down just by Shaw.

Another bomb dropped. That time it was much louder.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” the woman said.

“No, I’m not scared,” Shaw said, slightly weary.

The woman’s eyes widened. After a moment, she settled down further, keeping herself seating next to Shaw. She gave no indication she meant to move; Shaw didn’t particularly mind.

A few years ago, she’d probably have gotten up and walked out when she met her soulmate. Even if it wasn’t for the bombing, she’d doubted she’d do that now though.

That was what wartime did: even back at home, everyone had to work together. Neighbours who’d never exchanged words offered a spare room when one house was destroyed, total strangers slept side-by-side in the cramped underground… Shaw could almost stand to put up with people, now.

“Nice to meet you,” the woman said. She offered her hand; “Root.”

“Shaw,” she replied, taking the hand.

Shaw rested her hand back down on the platform. Root rested hers on top; Shaw inwardly rolled her eyes, but didn’t pull away. Close contact was to be expected down here.

“So, you scared?” Shaw said, echoing Root.

“A little,” Root said. She still smiled. “You heard what happened at Marble Arch.”

Another bomb fell; that one was far closer. Dust fell from the roof, and several people gave cries. Shaw didn’t blink.

Marble Arch station had been bombed a few months ago; it had been a mix of terrible luck and the aftereffects of traffic. The roof had given way under the bomb, and it had gone off inside the station.

“Doubt that’ll happen,” Shaw said. “We’re safe in here.”

“Safe is relative,” Root said. “Sat under a bunch of bombers doesn’t strike me as the safest place to be.”

“Better to have a roof over you,” Shaw said.

“That I agree with,” Root said.

She chuckled. Shaw rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. Levity was refreshing, rather than the doom-and-gloom soldiering on she saw from most people.

“Can I let you in on a secret?” Root stage-whispered.

“What?”

“Not really that scared,” Root said. “Just seeing how you comforted. You’re not really that good at it.”

“So I’ve heard,” Shaw said. She rolled her eyes, but chuckled.

Root shuffled closer to her as someone else sat down, stretching out in a sleeping bag. Shaw lifted her arm, not wanting Root to sit on it.

After a few seconds, she relented and lowered her arm down over Root’s shoulders. It was better than having it squashed awkwardly between then.

“You’re good at cards,” Shaw said, gesturing to the table where the group-minus-one was starting to play again.

“Lots of practise, lots of cheating,” Root said.

Shaw hesitated.

“I like to win,” Root said.

“Might not want to antagonize the people you’re locked in a room with,” Shaw said.

“Oh,” Root said. She nodded slowly as if she’d only just considered it. “There’s a thought.”

Shaw snorted. It was a little while before either of them spoke again, waiting out the rumbling and the shaking of the Blitz above them.

Root’s head dropped sideways onto Shaw’s shoulder; Shaw shifted and pushed Root’s head back up.

“If you don’t like people being in close quarters, you probably shouldn’t have come down here,” Root said.

“Close quarters I can stand,” Shaw said, “If you’re actually trying to sleep. You weren’t.”

“But you wouldn’t mind sleeping together?” Root said.

Shaw raised her eyebrows. Root smiled.

“Sure,” Shaw said, wearily. “I can stand that.”

“I look forward to it,” Root said. 


	124. You Started It 4

Shaw was rather unsurprised to find Root waiting outside her meeting yet again. Shaw didn’t bother trekking back to the bin, snatching the flowers from Root and just trampling them underfoot as they walked to the elevators.

“I think I’m wearing you down,” Root said, gesturing to the pitiful looking bouquet.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Shaw said.

Root chuckled. They waited for a little time, as the rest of the crowd from the meeting took the elevators down. It would be a short while before an empty elevator came back up for them.

“Want to play a game?” Root said, suddenly.

“If it’s one you’ve come up with, I doubt it,” Shaw said.

“Go on,” Root said. “It’s a fun one.”

“I don’t trust your definition of fun.”

“It involves you getting handsy,” Root said. “You seem to enjoy that.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. It was a few seconds before she reluctantly sighed.

“I’m listening,” Shaw said.

“Remember what we did on our last trip?” Root said.

“Vividly.”

“Glad to hear it,” Root said. She gave a playful smile; “We basically do the same.”

“Wouldn’t call that a game,” Shaw said. “Fun, not exactly a game.”

“I haven’t gotten to the game part yet,” Root said. “So impatient. Are you going to let me talk? Good. So, the challenge is to not get caught.”

There was a pause. Shaw regarded her, uncertain.

“That’s it?” Shaw said.

“That’s it,” Root said. “Doors open, we have to stop.”

“So, like normal.”

“What?”

“Like normal,” Shaw said. “Having sex in an elevator, you stop when the doors open. That’s just common sense.”

Root looked at Shaw, apparently contemplating something. Then, so quickly it nearly gave Shaw whiplash, her expression went from speculative to grinning.

“Yep,” Root said. “That’s it exactly.”

“So, you just want to screw again, basically,” Shaw said. “Not exactly a game.”

“It’s a bit of a game.”

“It’s what we’d probably have ended up doing anyway,” Shaw said. “Only damn way to make an elevator ride with you bearable. Not a game.”

“It’s a challenge.”

“Not a challenge,” Shaw said. “Did it before.”

“But if it was a game, would you want to play?” Root said.

Root looked innocently at her. As she always did whenever Root looked innocent, Shaw took careful stock of the situation, sure something was going to make her regret this.

_Bing_. The elevator finally reached them, but they waited outside for a moment as Shaw considered. Eventually, she sighed.

“Sure,” she said.

Root beamed, and invited Shaw to enter the elevator. Shaw did so, walking right to the far wall. It would make things easier. She looked at Root suspiciously as she passed.

After a second or so more, Root walked inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, she leapt for the buttons, using both hands to stab at every floor from where they were to the ground. By the time Shaw had reached her, every button was lit.

Shaw pulled her back from the buttons, just a little roughly.

“This again?” Shaw said. “ _Seriously_?”

“Told you it was a challenge,” Root said.

Shaw glared at her, Root simply smiling, until they reached the next floor. The _bing_ distracted her.

“So?” Root said, smiling still, “Want to play?”


	125. Can I Hold Your Hand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request time!

Shaw didn’t like haunted houses. She trudged through it, very far from intimidated by the obviously-fake décor and vaguely dimmed lights.

She was just there for the drinks.

At a jump scare somewhere along the path, someone jumped into her. Her glare seemed to scare them more than the attraction itself; she was rather gratified to see them hurry away.

Shaw continued on, impatiently waiting for the end of the tour. She’d been promised drinks on the far side.

“Can I hold your hand?”

The voice came up behind Shaw. It was more teasing than afraid; no doubt they’d seen Shaw’s reaction to the other person. It also made Shaw jump more than any of the other features at the haunted house.

Really, she had to meet her soulmate _now_?

“Try it and I’ll rip your hand off,” Shaw said, without turning around.

She heard a chuckle. Sighing, Shaw turned, to see a woman standing behind her. She offered her hand; Shaw ignored it.

“I’m Root,” the woman said.

“You have bad taste in attractions,” Shaw said.

“And you?”

“There’s meant to be drinks,” Shaw said. “Beginning to think it wasn’t worth it. Especially now.”

“I’m just here to pickpocket,” Root said.

Shaw paused.

“What?” Root said. “People jump around, if they feel my hand they’ll just think I’m trying to spook them, and I’ve got every reason to jump into people. It works out well.”

Root lifted a wallet out of one pocket, absently tossing it to Shaw. Shaw continued to hesitate. Ok, this wasn’t going how she’d expected.

There was a sudden _Boo!_ as a worker dressed as a somewhat pitiful-looking ghost leapt out from the wall. Neither Root or Shaw flinched, and Shaw turned to fix the worker with a glare.

Rather cowed, the ghost backed away. Shaw turned her attention back to Root. Well, at least Root wasn’t as cowardly as most of the people in there.

“Slightly impressive,” Shaw said, eventually.

“Thanks,” Root said. “Don’t mind a pickpocket for a soulmate?”

“Preferable to you actually liking this kind of thing,” Shaw said.

There were a few seconds of silence. Apparently the meant-to-be-scary people in costumes had learnt their lesson about interrupting the two of them.

“Are we having a moment?” Root said, tilting her head.

“Not now,” Shaw said.

She turned away. It had almost been interesting, until Root had started to get boring. She walked away, trying to figure out where the drinks were.

It was only a few seconds before she felt Root near her. A hand patted the side of hers; reluctantly, Shaw opened her palm, and let Root take her hand.

“Thanks,” Root chirped.

“Just because you’re a pickpocket,” Shaw said. “I want to know where your hands are.”

“You only have to ask.”


	126. Root the Magnificent 3

Root had a room in her home dedicated to new tricks and performances. There were decks of cards, dice, hats, wands, and all manner of odd-looking machines Shaw didn’t even want to guess at the purpose of.

There was also a corner dedicated to blindfolds, ropes and handcuffs which Root swore was for escapology and related acts. Shaw didn’t believe her in the slightest.

As much as Shaw was far from thrilled by Root’s profession, she did like watching Root when she sat in that room. Not that she’d admit it.

Root would wander around the walls, pick up a disparate set of tools, then sit down and completely tune out the world. More often than not she came away with nothing, though at least that was preferable to trying to show Shaw another trick.

“Thought any more about being my assistant?” Root said.

She was sat in the middle of the room. That time she’d picked up a presumably-gimmicked gun from one rack.

“Answer’s still no,” Shaw said.

“There’s a good classic that needs two people to do,” Root said.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” Root said.

“Don’t care.”

“You don’t need to wear feathers or fishnets,” Root said. She paused. “Unless you want to. I wouldn’t mind. Awful lot of nice outfits you could-”

“Not going to.”

“You’d get to shoot things.”

There was a pause. Shaw regarded Root for a few seconds, before shrugging.

“Ok,” Shaw said. “I’m listening.”

* * *

In the end, they made a deal. Shaw would help with one trick, and one trick only. She was only serving as an extra pair of hands; no outfit, no dialogue, no real role.

She did like her one part.

Root finished off a simple card trick, pulling a card out of a lemon, before turning back to her little stall. She had a good sense of the audience’s attitude; whenever the bystanders seemed bored of card tricks, she liked to do something more stand-out.

She took a few seconds to relax from the heat, splashing her face with water and drying it off. As she did, she slipped something into her mouth, hiding the motion behind her arm.

And that was when she pulled a gun out of the stall. She made a small show of brandishing it, getting a few laughs along with the hasty backing-away.

“And now, I’ll need the help of my beautiful assistant,” Root announced.

Shaw rolled her eyes, half-stomping to where Root stood. She had a far less enthused look on her face.

“No need to look so grumpy,” Root said.

“Don’t push your luck,” Shaw said.

There were a few more laughs; evidently the audience thought it was part of the act. Shaw snorted.

For her part, she was just relieved she’d vetoed the various costumes Root had proposed. She just wore her casual outfit: well, it suited what the audience no doubt thought of as her character.

Root handed the gun over to Shaw. Shaw took it gratefully.

“I might regret this,” Root said.

Another chuckle from the audience. Shaw smiled to herself, walking a slight distance away.

“Now,” Root said, her usual dishonest patter to the audience, “Everyone’s heard of knife-throwing. That’s a bit dated, don’t you think? Shaw here has a lot of practise with a gun, though. Will the people to the right clear out the way slightly?”

She gestured, and the audience obeyed, clearing out a small space to Root’s right. Shaw stood at the base of it, a gun in one hand, while Root walked to the cart.

She picked up a disc with a bullseye painted on it, taking care to show it to the audience: unblemished, unmarked.

“I’m going to throw this,” Root said, “And my lovely, bad-tempered assistant-”

“Really hate you sometimes,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said, beaming. “Anyway, I’ll throw the disc over there, and Shaw will shoot right through the middle. And if she doesn’t, I get to choose her costume for next time.”

Shaw turned to face Root, and fixed her with a glare.

“Eyes on the target sweetie,” Root said. She lifted the target, weighing it in her hands as if about to throw.

“Do you really think it’s smart to annoy me right now?” Shaw said.

“Something wrong, sweetie?” Root said.

Shaw lifted her gun, pointing it directly at Root. There was a little uncomfortable fidgeting from the audience, among those who couldn’t quite tell whether it was part of the act.

“Shaw,” Root said, suddenly uncertain. “You don’t have to-”

Shaw fired, and there was a sudden in-drawn breath. And then all eyes went to Root, who was holding a fired bullet between her teeth, and the shock turned to applause.

Shaw reluctantly lowered the gun. Unfortunately it was a fake; not even capable of firing blanks. It just made an impressive bang, enough to distract and make people jump.

Add that to the fired bullet Root had snuck into her mouth before the trick even started, and you had a pretty convincing illusion.

And Root definitely didn’t catch Shaw smiling to herself when she went to put the gun away.


	127. Oh

Shaw sat down in the seat, spreading her legs out slightly. Sure, there was someone either side of her, but she was going to be sitting there a couple of hours, she wanted to be comfortable.

It was a play that had looked vaguely interesting. Well, she had to do something.

She sat through it, vaguely paying attention. It wasn’t terrible, even if she didn’t really find it enthralling.

Then another actress came out onto the stage.

“Is it to quarrel with me that you have wished to bring me home?” she enunciated clearly.

There was a momentary pause, in which Shaw became uncomfortably aware that she was sitting in a crowded theatre. It was dark, and in those spaces between lines, so very silent.

She felt suddenly hyperaware of everything for the next second or so, not expecting to hear those words.

“Oh. Fuck,” she said. It was a few seconds before she realized she’d spoken aloud, and a few more before she realized just how loudly she’d spoken.

The silence dragged on for a few seconds more, the occasional titter coming from elsewhere in the audience, before the actors on stage hastily continued. Shaw noted that the actress who’d spoken looked almost shell-shocked.

When the interval came, Shaw hurriedly flicked through her programme. It was a few seconds before she found a familiar face in it, and a name. Root as Celimene.

So, her soulmate had a name.

Shaw managed to make it through the second act without any loud swearing. She did occasionally catch Root distractedly looking at the audience, though.

She was slightly surprised she hadn’t been kicked out of the theatre.

When the play came to an end, Shaw couldn’t remember much of it. It was hard to do much beyond overanalyse and debate what it was she should do next.

She had a soulmate, and she knew how to meet that soulmate.

So, should she? She’d never made it secret that she wasn’t interested, but it still felt too easy to just walk away. And, well, her soulmate was kind of cute. It just depended how much of what she’d seen was the character, and how much was her.

Somehow Shaw found herself around the stage door. There was a small crowd there already; Shaw didn’t try to push to the front. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to talk to anyone.

Some of the cast trekked out, some stayed inside. Most of the leads seemed content to hide themselves away, talking through windows, until more of the crowd had dispersed.

Shaw was just about to give up and walk away when she heard Root’s chiming voice. She looked up, and saw Root’s face leaning out the window.

“Which one of you’s got the potty mouth?” Root said playfully.

There were a few murmurs. Shaw hesitated.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” Root said.

Shaw groaned rather than spoke, but apparently that was enough. Some of the thinning crowd looked at her, while Root’s attention was quickly drawn.

“Hey,” Shaw said, monotone.

“It was you?” Root said. She appraised Shaw. “Any reason you needed to interrupt?”

“You know exactly why,” Shaw said. “You don’t need to play games.”

Root grinned. She waved down to the stage door.

“Hey guys, you can let her in,” she looked back to Shaw. “Anything you want signed?”

“No.”

“Sure?” Root said. “I’ve heard a few people can get imaginative with that.”

“I’m leaving,” Shaw said.

She stood still for a few seconds. Root smirked.

“I’ll tone it down,” Root said. “I’m an actress, I’m allowed to be dramatic.”

“You’re just a pain.”

“That too.”


	128. Any Last Words 2

Root hid out in a nearby house, climbing in through a damaged window and hiding until the guards had gone by. She fled as soon as the normal homeowners entered the room.

It wasn’t too hard to get started again. She had quite a stash of stolen prizes kept in a small shelter that evidently hadn’t been found.

The smart thing to do would have been to move on, of course. They knew her face here, so she shouldn’t stay. Another town, another place, and she could start anew. She’d miss Hanna, sure, but she probably wouldn’t get much chance to see her now.

Root’s mind always went to the woman who should have been her executioner, though. Just her luck to meet her soulmate at the scaffold.

There was no point in running. She spent a few days doing a little research, soon finding out where Shaw called home. It was only a matter of turning up.

She opted to knock smartly on the door, rather than sneaking in. It certainly wasn’t the safest of options, but neither was sticking around.

“You were meant to leave,” Shaw said flatly, the moment she opened the door.

“Just wanted to check on my soulmate,” Root said. “Can I come in? Probably much safer inside.”

“I’m not inviting a thief into my house,” Shaw said.

“I’m not just a thief.”

“Really not helping your case.”

Root pouted. After a few seconds, Shaw rolled her eyes, and glanced back behind Root to ensure no one untoward was watching them. Then, she stepped back, and Root walked inside.

“Didn’t get into too much trouble, I hope?” Root said.

“Remains to be seen,” Shaw said. “But didn’t get into any for botching your hanging. They blamed the rope.”

“That’s good,” Root said. “Glad my soulmate’s safe.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Why?” Root said. “You saved me. You have to think-”

“I don’t care about a tattoo,” Shaw said. “You were fun. Didn’t seem worth it to let you die. So didn’t let you die. That’s it.”

“So you just think I’m fun?” Root said. Her eyes lit up. “I can work with that.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Shaw said.

“No promises.”

Root smirked, as Shaw turned her head to walk away. It was just a few seconds before she stopped, and turned back to face and watch Root.

“Actually, not taking my eyes off you,” Shaw said. “Whatever else you’ve done, you’re a thief. I’m watching you.”

“I hear you,” Root said. She paused. “What if I need to get changed?”

“What?”

“You said you weren’t going to stop watching me,” Root said. “Is that still true if I need to change clothes? Not complaining, just wondering how far you’re going.”

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw said.

“What?” Root said. “It’s a valid question.”

“And it’s not exactly smart to antagonise the person you’re relying on for shelter,” Shaw said. “I could walk outside right now and get you back on track for an execution.”

“But you won’t,” Root said, beaming. “You said you liked how fun I was.”

“This isn’t fun.”

“I don’t know about that,” Root said. “You’re the one that wanted to watch me strip.”

“I _never_ said-”

“Kinda did,” Root said. Then, she frowned. “Or are you saying that wouldn’t be fun? I’m hurt.”

Shaw stared at her for a few seconds. She might have been regretting her choice at the gallows.

“Ok,” Shaw said, eventually. “House rules. If I’m going to be sheltering a fugitive, you’re going to have to listen. No stealing from me, no being a pain-”

“What about stealing in general?” Root said. “Thought you liked my list of crimes.”

“Only said from me,” Shaw said. “There are a few people out there who deserve to be knocked down a peg or two, go after them all you want. Just don’t bring the stuff back here.”

“Got it,” Root said.

“And don’t make me regret saving your life,” Shaw said. “I did it because you seemed fun. Don’t be a pain, and we won’t have a problem.”

“Oh, I can definitely promise you fun.”


	129. Nice Phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a true story.

Shaw was less than enthused by her soulmate. What was it about her, that the universe had looked at her and apparently decided ‘gadget and tech geek’ was her perfect match?

Root had peered over her shoulder at the café to compliment her phone, apropos of nothing, and Shaw had nearly thrown her drink at her. As it was, she’d just spilt it.

Root went home to change her top, and she’d invited Shaw to go along. For a reason Shaw couldn’t quite recall, she’d agreed. If she was stuck with a soulmate, may as well see what she was like.

They got about a step into her house before the lights flickered on, despite the fact Root hadn’t hit a switch. Shaw hesitated, briefly.

It was starting to get dark outside, so the lights were welcome. Still, Root hadn’t mentioned someone else living with her.

“Relax,” Root said, seeing her expression. “It’s automated.”

“What?” Shaw said, flatly. “Please tell me you don’t have a motion detector.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Root said. “It detects my phone, knows it’s late, so turns the lights on. Can get an app for anything these days.”

“That’s slightly worse,” Shaw said.

“Pretty handy, I think,” Root said. “Changes thermostat when it knows I’m out, no wastage, turns lights off automatically so there’s no way I can forget one…”

“So, basically, your home is a supervillain’s hideout,” Shaw said.

“Close enough,” Root said.

She didn’t seem to notice the mocking. Instead, she happily went inside, plugging her phone in and gesturing for Shaw to come in further.

Shaw looked side to side for a moment, a little uncertainly, before doing so. It was somewhat unnerving to go into a house that seemed to have far too much set up to work of its own accord.

“Want a drink?” Root said.

“Got a robot that makes the tea?”

“Not yet,” Root said.

She just went for a beer. Root retrieved a bottle, before sitting down near Shaw. After a few seconds, Root grabbed her phone, unlocking it and playing with something for a few seconds. The lights dimmed.

Shaw raised her eyebrows.

“What?” Root said. “Mood lighting, without needing to leave my seat. You’ve got to admit, that can be pretty handy.”

“Pretty annoying.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“What’s next on the list of clichés?” Shaw said, “Turn up the heat so I take off my top?”

“Not a bad thought,” Root said, contemplatively.

Shaw glared; Root chuckled.

“Fine,” Root said, “Relax, I’ll manage that with just charm then.”

“Might be a struggle for you.”

Root just smirked. Shaw didn’t quite know what to feel; ok, her soulmate was attractive, that was a plus, but there was only so much annoying she could take.

Her gaze kept going to the phone as well. Her soulmate did seem to like her machines; seemed strange that so much could be controlled with that.

“Hey Siri,” Shaw tried.

The phone didn’t respond.

“Voice recognition,” Root said, “Only meant to recognize my voice when doing that, so only I can use the voice control.”

Shaw paused.

“Hey Siri,” she said, again, changing pitch slightly.

There was a beep as the phone evidently took that as a close enough approximation of Root’s voice. Root blinked; Shaw chuckled. She wasn’t as into gadgetry as Root evidently was, but she knew the voice recognition could be a little shoddy.

“Turn off the lights,” Shaw said.

It took about a second before they were sitting in the dark.

“Happy?” Root said.

“Are you?” Shaw said. “It’s your system.”

“It works most of the time.”

Shaw paused.

“Hey Siri,” Shaw said. There was a beep. “Turn the lights on.”

The lights came on again; not just the ones in their room, but all around the house, in the hallway and down in the kitchen.

Shaw snorted as Root hurriedly grabbed her phone, trying to find the controls.

Ok, maybe she could get used to staying here.


	130. [blank] 2

_What you doing_?

That was the disadvantage to a long-range not-soulmate. They never saw each other, but Root still wanted to feel as though they were spending time together.

Which seemed to translate to getting an obscene number of text messages. Shaw rolled her eyes, ignoring it.

_Hey there! *waves*_

And another came through after just a few seconds.

_Stop ignoring me_.

_It’s meant to be like we’re together. Imagine I’m hanging around behind you._

Eventually, Shaw gave up. She sighed, starting to type in a reply: _if you were here, I’d be ignoring you too._

It shut Root up, though not for nearly long enough.

She’d admit she did like talking to Root, most of the time at least. She could be entertaining, she could be interesting; there was enough there to enjoy.

Ever since moving past their strictly professional relationship, though, Root had started contacting her a lot more.

She sent off a text saying she was driving, before walking home. She occasionally glanced at her phone, seeing that at least Root was sending her fewer messages now.

Shaw could just imagine Root laughing away to herself. It had been Root’s idea, after all; the messages were meant to make it like they were together, side-by-side. From what she’d seen of Root’s personality, she fully expected Root would be just as much of a pain in person.

When Shaw got home, she eventually wandered over to her computer. She preferred talking via that anyway.

_Shaw:_ You there?

_Root:_ No.

Shaw snorted. Now her presence had been confirmed, anyway, so she could wait for whatever Root wanted to say. Shaw had never been much of a conversationalist. Eventually though, she sighed.

The one time she actually wanted to talk to Root, Root stayed silent.

_Shaw:_ Do you need to text that much?

_Root:_ Absolutely.

Shaw waited for a few seconds. No elaboration. Ok. She rolled her eyes, turning her attention to something else, when-

_Root:_ I wanted to be with you, that’s all. Talk to you as much as I could if I was next to you.

_Shaw:_ You talk that much?

_Root:_ Something wrong?

_Shaw:_ Probably a good thing we haven’t met in person. It’ll probably end in murder.

_Root:_ Could be worth it.

Shaw chuckled to herself. Root could be a bit of a pretentious romantic, she knew that well enough. At least online she could picture Root’s expression for herself; imagine her quipping rather than being serious. Root did strike her as someone who liked her quips.

She’d seen Root’s face. They’d exchanged photos a few times, images of various kinds, so at least Shaw knew who she was talking to.

It could be fun to imagine Root.

_Root:_ I don’t want to meet. Reminder.

_Shaw:_ I know, you still want us to somehow be soulmates.

_Root:_ Not meeting’s the easiest way.

_Shaw:_ I get it. I’ll happily use any excuse to not have to put up with you.

_Root:_ We can’t have first words to each other. It’s this or I could hold up signs outside your window.

_Shaw:_ No rom-com moments

_Root:_ Spoilsport.

Shaw rolled her eyes.

_Root:_ Besides, the moment we meet you’re just going to shout something aren’t you? That way you don’t have to think we’re soulmates.

_Shaw:_ Maybe.

_Root:_ But this way we are. Don’t you want us to be?

Shaw hesitated for a few seconds. She had priorities beyond soulmates, and had never had a huge desire for such a match.

And Root was a pain, overly romantic, irritating, and just a general pest. The answer should be easy.

_Shaw:_ Maybe.


	131. Not My Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request!

Root turned onto a slightly less busy road, thankful for the chance to get up speed. She wasn’t in a huge hurry, she just didn’t like the amount of time that always seemed to be wasted in travel.

She had things to do at home, and things to do at her destination, but everything in between may as well have been pointless.

She tuned out the hum of the engine, the rush of the wind, and the sound of tyres against the road. If she could, she’d have fallen asleep.

Dimly though, Root noticed another car in the mirror. It was speeding notably faster than her; another impatient driver apparently.

Root did her best to ignore them, only taking notice when the other car got awfully close to them, just as the number of lanes shrank. She glanced in her mirror every few seconds, seeing the car get uncomfortably close.

The driver was perfectly visible: a dark haired, focused woman who’d probably be tapping her foot if she wasn’t driving.

As the road widened again, Root felt slightly relieved. She tried to change lanes, only for the car behind her to try to do the exact same, suddenly speeding into her. Root felt her car jerk.

She then heard, even through the window of her car, an impressive string of curses.

Root jerked on the wheel suddenly, out of shock. Of all the times to hear those words… Root had always been amused by her soulmate’s imaginative cursing.

Root glanced back, glad to see the other driver was pulling over. As much road rage as they seemed to get, at least they’d pay for the damage. Root pulled over too, putting on the handbrake before getting out of her car.

She tapped on the other driver’s window, and watched as she rolled it down.

“Can I have your number?” Root said, beaming.

The woman stared.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Root said.

The woman paused, before reaching down and pulling up a scrap of paper. She wrote out details on it; everything Root needed to talk to her insurance company.

Silently, the woman stuck her arm out the window, holding the paper. Root took it, and paused for a moment. Her name was Shaw, apparently.

It took her a few seconds to realize why the woman wasn’t talking.

“It’s safe to speak you know,” Root said. “Already heard your little tirade when you bumped me. I know we’re soulmates.”

The woman stared for much longer.

“You’re still paying for repairs,” Root said.

“Well screw you too,” Shaw said.

“Charming,” Root said, still beaming. “It’s your fault, technically. That was bad driving.”

“It was good driving,” Shaw said, “Just fast. You got in the way.”

“Only got in the way because you were out of control.”

“I was in control,” Shaw said. “If you’d stayed in your lane we wouldn’t be having this problem, and we’d get a nice normal life without needing to worry about soulmates.”

“What bothers you more, that I dented your car, or that we’re soulmates?”

Shaw stuck her head out the window, peering to the front of her car to try and spot any damage.

“You dented my-” Shaw began.

Root started chuckling, unable to help herself.

“That answers that,” Root said.

“A car’s actually useful,” Shaw said.

“I can be useful,” Root pouted, “Promise.”

There was a brief pause. Shaw glanced at Root’s hands, fingers just over the base of the window. She seemed to be seriously considering rolling the window up on her.

“I’m probably going to run you over if you don’t move away soon,” Shaw said.

“Temper, temper,” Root said.

Shaw’s engine revved. Root took a hasty step back.

“I’ve still got your number,” Root said, calling after her as Shaw started speeding off again.

She was fairly sure she caught sight of a middle finger out of Shaw’s window.


	132. Where Are You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory rock star AU.

Root was glad she’d gotten tickets. She’d wanted to see the band live for years now, and especially wanted to see lead singer Sameen Shaw. She had garnered a fair fan-base.

The moment the music began, Root had shivers. She’d wanted to hear them for so long, and she wasn’t disappointed.

Root cheered, hands in the air at the sound. The band played, and Shaw stood at the front of the stage, hand on the microphone awaiting her cue. Then, in one fluid movement she grabbed it and started to sing.

“ _Midnight, getting uptight, where are you? You said you’d meet me, now it’s quarter to two._ ”

It was loud, and exciting, and it sent a thrum through every nerve in her body. And over the guitars, the drums, Shaw’s voice was perfectly distinct, as much part of the music as any of the instruments.

And just as intense was the music, was the fact Root knew those words. She’d been interested in the song ever since she’d read the lyrics tattooed on her chest; she hadn’t expected it to be how Shaw would open the concert.

So, her soulmate was the lead singer of her favourite band. She wouldn’t say no.

If anything, Root just ended up cheering louder.

Root made it through the concert, each new note sending a thrill through her not unlike the moment she heard her soulmate speak. She clapped and clapped and shrieked along with the rest of the audience.

When it was over, she was one of the first to rush to try and get access to backstage. She was far from the only one.

Root faltered, then. She’d planned out how she wanted the meeting to go, over the interval; she liked the idea of having the same tattoo as Shaw. She imagined walking into the dressing room, covering maybe the first verse of the song, and then, well, she’d see.

Dressing room probably wasn’t going to happen by the look of this, and first words didn’t mean much if Shaw never even heard her.

The moment she saw Shaw, Root started waving. Somehow she’d made it near the front of the crowd, not quite allowed to get backstage.

“Hey!” Root said. “Want me to sing for-”

Root caught herself. She noticed Shaw stiffen, turning around carefully. Root waved; Shaw stared at her for a few seconds.

Then she slumped, and gestured to one of the guards. Root breathed a sigh of relief as she was let in.

“I’m a big fan,” Root said, hurriedly. “I really- uh, I wanted to get us matching tattoos. I messed up.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows.

“You know,” Root said, “if I’d sung the same song that you sang first, my tattoo would be your tattoo. Seemed like a nice idea. Then I got excited. So- Unless your tattoo’s just me cheering. That’s a thought.”

“It wasn’t,” Shaw said, shortly.

Right, she’d have had it removed. Most people in the public eye did. Root inwardly cringed; so going for matching tattoos would have been a waste of time anyway.

Shaw looked back over Root’s shoulder. She nodded to the gathered fans for a moment, before focusing back on Root.

“Come with me,” Shaw said. “Really don’t want to have this conversation in earshot of bloggers.”

“Happy to,” Root said, beaming.

Sometime she’d stop babbling. It was hard to not be a little star-struck.

They went into Shaw’s dressing room, just as Root had imagined. It was markedly more messy than she’d expected, though most of it was costumes and snacks rather than anything personal. The only personal item seemed to be a photo of a dog.

“Glad you’re my soulmate,” Root said, beaming.

Shaw sat down. She seemed more baffled than anything.

“Isn’t that what everyone dreams of?” Root said. “Meet a celebrity they love, only to find out they’re soulmates? It’s- I’ll need a moment.”

“I’m not going to be what you want,” Shaw said.

“What?”

“I’m not interested in the soulmate stuff,” Shaw said. “I’m not going to write a song for you, I’m not going to do anything couple-y. I don’t know what you’re thinking of, but-”

“I could be a groupie,” Root said.

Shaw paused.

“A very lucky groupie,” Root said. “That work for you?”

“You’re taking this well,” Shaw said.

“Soulmates,” Root said. “Pretty much has to work out, right?” She paused. “Does this mean I get free tickets?”

Shaw hesitated.

“I guess,” she said, eventually.

“Song dedication?”

“What?” Shaw said. “I told you, nothing-”

“I’m not asking you to write anything,” Root said. She beamed. “Just preface one with ‘and this is for my lovely, darling soulmate-’”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Shaw said.

Root pouted. Shaw glared. After a good few minutes, Shaw relented.

“Fine,” she said. “But don’t expect it to be a sweet one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credit to Joan Jett, because Shaw's a fan of hers and you can't tell me otherwise.


	133. A Good Captain 2

Root had steered her Machine out a fair way to sea, yet every time she glanced back Captain Shaw seemed to be continuing her pursuit. She was irritatingly good.

Well, what else would she expect from her soulmate?

Root looked through her telescope again. When she could take a few seconds to break, she enjoyed the sight; Shaw with a rope in one hand, and her other on her cutlass, staring back at her in grim anticipation.

They would pretty much have to meet again. It seemed as though Shaw looked forward to it as much as Root.

Unfortunately, it did mean Root was alone on a still rather damaged ship, and up against a much better crewed and looked-after vessel. The Machine was the better ship, but she still needed to be handled well.

Root walked to the edge of the deck, peering over.

There was a trail of debris left in her wake; not much, just a few loose planks and specks from the damage sustained in her last battle with Shaw, but it wasn’t good.

Root lifted her telescope again. She could almost imagine that Shaw could see her at this distance, so intent was her gaze.

Well, playing fair wasn’t going to get her through this.

Root hurried to the back of the ship. She lifted her telescope again for one final scan of Shaw’s ship; no one seemed to be surveying her. Well, they didn’t need to. She smiled, made sure her cutlass was secure, and vaulted over the edge of her ship.

It was a strange feeling, leaving her Machine behind. Hopefully, though, it wouldn’t be for long. The Machine was following one set course, and they were far from any rocks or obstacles.

She didn’t swim, floating as though she were just more debris. Shaw’s ship was following the trail, planks and bits of wood scattering harmlessly against the prow of the ship.

Root floated similarly, occasionally giving a subtle kick, but otherwise not swimming at all. She floated, and drifted, inconspicuous debris from the damaged Machine.

It wasn’t long at all before she reached Shaw’s vessel, and once there she unsheathed her cutlass, cutting at the ship to ensure she kept with it. She reached up, pulling herself up through a cannon-hole.

Two very surprised privateers looked at her. Unfortunately for them, Root already had her cutlass in hand.

Shaw had been rushed out here. At the sight of Root fleeing, Shaw would have commandeered the nearest vessel. That meant most of these people were unprepared, and it likely wasn’t even the ship’s normal complement. Root had only spotted half a dozen through her telescope.

Root spent a few moments leaning on a cannon, catching her breath.

Then she got back into action, snatching a pistol from one of the fallen crew, and rushing out onto deck.

Technically she had as much time as they had to react, but they had to get over the shock of seeing someone they thought was on a completely different ship. That gave Root the advantage, and she already had a cutlass and pistol raised.

She shot once, dropped the pistol, and brandished her blade at the closest privateer she could see. The element of surprise won out yet again.

Shaw was the only one still out on deck. Root hurried up the stairs to her, yet held her cutlass in an open palm, unthreatening.

“Ok,” Shaw said, after a moment. “You’re good, I get it.”

“Don’t worry sweetie,” Root said. “I’m not going to hurt my soulmate.”

Shaw snorted.

“How many others are on this ship?” Root said.

“Like I’d tell you.”

“Now that’s not very nice,” Root pouted. “I’m not threatening you.”

“You’re trying to take my ship.”

“It’s not your ship,” Root said. “Yours sank.”

“That’s my ship,” Shaw said, gesturing out to the Machine. “Took it from you, remember? This is where I get it back.”

“I think we can reach a compromise,” Root said. “I can’t sail it alone, you know.”

“You want my help?” Shaw said flatly.

“Second pair of hands doesn’t hurt,” Root said. “At least until we reach a pirate-friendly port, then I can get a new crew and you can do what you want.”

Root paused, glancing sideways. Another of this ship’s crew had emerged; they didn’t seem to have identified the woman talking to their captain yet.

“One sec,” Root said, beaming.

She vaulted over the fence, landing on the main deck and lunging. The duel lasted seconds. Root span back, and returned to Shaw.

Shaw was watching her, expression somewhere between bemusement and dislike. She had her cutlass out though, like Root, she kept it lowered.

“And why would I join you?” Shaw said. “I can see why you need me. The ship you stole from me-”

“Stole _back_.”

“It’s falling apart,” Shaw said. “You might have set it up to be manned by fewer people, but especially in that condition it needs more than one. But I’ve got crew enough here.”

“Less than you ought to,” Root said. “Especially now. Besides, would you rather have this mediocre crew, or a spectacular soulmate?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Might need to salvage some of this ship,” Root said, looking around, unconcerned by Shaw’s words. “Little extra wood for repairs.”

“Root.”

“Put it like this,” Root said. “You couldn’t have had a full crew when you set out, and you’ve just lost most of them. Chances of you getting back to dry land safely is low. You’d need a ship that can run with fewer people, like the Machine, and you’d need someone who knows her inside and out. That’d be me. You’re not getting back to land without my help, sweetie.”

Shaw paused for a moment. She looked out at her ship, apparently mentally calculating how many people she’d lost.

The answer didn’t seem to please her. She scowled at Root, then schooled her expression.

“And the rest of the crew?” Shaw said.

“Oh, please tell me you’re not loyal to the first idiots you could pick up,” Root said.

Shaw tilted her head, conceding that point.

“Offer’s only open to you,” Root said. “So, what do you say? Want to be stranded out here, or want to sail the seas with your soulmate?”

“To the nearest port,” Shaw said, “Where I can get off.”

“If that’s what you want,” Root said. “We have a deal?”

Root beamed; Shaw continued to glare at her. Root’s smile lessened only slightly. Ok, this was either going to end in murder, or _really_ great sex.

“I guess you’ve got a deal,” Shaw said, and sheathed her cutlass. “Though don’t go expecting me to be nice to you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Root said.


	134. Keep it Down 2

Martine hated her downstairs neighbours. They’d been bearable for months, and now…

It had started simply enough. One played loud music, but Martine didn’t mind that so much. It was muffled easily enough, and a certain amount of background noise was expected.

Then they’d started shouting at each other through the wall. Something about music, and soulmates, and names.

By the sound of it, they might have been soulmates. Nice for them. It didn’t give them an excuse to shout constantly.

“Quiet!” Martine shouted, stomping, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Ever since the first conversation, they’d been shouting through the wall at each other more and more often. Apparently they just couldn’t be bothered to walk the short distance out their door, and down the hall to the very next one.

That, or they just liked being a pain. Martine was putting her money on the latter.

More voices. Martine stomped again. Eventually there was silence; she thought she heard a door shut. Well, that was promising, hopefully they’d just talk like normal human beings now, in the same room.

It was a good ten minutes or so before Martine heard any other noise. She paused, poised to shout again, unsure if she’d imagined it. It hadn’t sounded like a work.

Then there was another sound. It was definitely coming from the two downstairs, but-

Another sound, and Martine rolled her eyes, for a moment seriously considering shooting through the floor. Trust them to do _that_ loudly as well.

“Will you two _shut up_?” Martine shouted.

It worked for a few seconds, at least.

“Don’t be jealous,” came the muffled voice of the one Martine was fairly sure was called Root.

Martine ignored her, groaning again as they started to make yet another din. That time, when she started shouting and stomping, they only got louder.

After a few minutes, wearily, she stood up, walked to her bed, and buried her head under her pillow. She was either going to have to move, or kill them. She wasn’t entirely sure which.

* * *

The better part of an hour later, and it was quieter. Shaw lay back, looking up, idly wondering whether it was her imagination, or if their upstairs neighbour had succeeded in knocking some of the paint off her ceiling.

Root lay next to her. Shaw was stead-fastedly ignoring the fact Root seemed to be a cuddler.

“We are terrible neighbours,” Root said absently.

“Mm,” Shaw said. “Mostly you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well you did start it,” Shaw said. “The shouting.”

“True,” Root said. Then, loudly enough to briefly deafen Shaw: “I’m sorry!”

It was very likely Root never said anything the slightest bit sincere. Their upstairs neighbour shouted something indistinct and annoyed back.

“Are you always this much of a pain?” Shaw said.

“Probably,” Root said. “Didn’t seem to bother you.”

“Just want to know what to expect.”


	135. Next!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a very old comment. Liked the idea, but couldn't quite get it to work for a bit. Enjoy!

Speed dating was a simple enough affair. Countless desks all through the room, small signs indicating which genders the person there was interested in, and a buzzer that sounded every ten seconds.

Then there was a small crowd expected to go from desk to desk, saying one line, then moving on to the next compatible person sitting down. Ideally two or three people would be matched up by the end of the night.

Or someone could sit down if they wanted to get to know someone, though that was done less often. There were separate events for simpler relationships, but most people seemed to be soulmate-seekers.

Shaw slumped at her desk, waiting to get it over with. A soon-to-be-former friend had bet she couldn’t sit through the whole thing, given what she thought of soulmates. She didn’t back down from a challenge, and for that matter she wouldn’t say no to money.

Still a pain.

“Hey, I’m-”

“Next!” Shaw interrupted, annoyed.

The buzzer went off. Shaw waited. Couldn’t be more than an hour, surely? There were a lot of people there, but at ten seconds a meeting…

“Who are-”

“Next!”

Shaw was fairly confident, regardless. She had no idea what her tattoo was meant to mean, but it was ridiculous enough she doubted anyone would actually say it.

Shaw’s eyes drifted, all manner of people in the queue. Occasionally her glare was enough to dissuade someone and make them skip to the next desk.

Not often enough, though.

“I like-”

“Next!”

This was going on forever. For a moment, Shaw debated whether or not it was worth the money. Who cared about a stupid bet?

“Purple platypus.”

Shaw blinked.

“Next!” she tried, after a moment’s hesitation.

Instead, the woman standing the other side of the desk beamed at her, and sat down. Shaw continued to glare.

“Don’t be like that,” the woman said. “I’m Root. You’re… Shaw?” she glanced at the tag on the desk.

“I said next,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said, and tapped her chest. “My tattoo.”

“I doubt I’m the only one to pass on you.”

“You are the only one to look like a dear little deer in headlights when I spoke to you,” Root said. “Why was that?”

“You talked about a platypus,” Shaw said. “I was worried you were mad.”

“It’s a password,” Root said. “Wanted it to be distinctive. Figured it counted.”

“Might do,” Shaw said. “Go find your soulmate.”

“Done.”

“No,” Shaw said. She was not ending this night with a soulmate, she just wasn’t, John wouldn’t let her hear the end of it. “You haven’t.”

Root paused. She regarded her for a few seconds, then smiled, ignoring the buzzer in the distance as everyone walked around them.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Root said. “Easy way to get me to go away: prove me wrong.”

Shaw glared. After a few seconds more, Root evidently took it as an answer.

“So, tell me about yourself, soulmate,” Root said. “What brings you here?”

“A friend,” Shaw said. She paused. “Who I’m going to kill.”

“Prison-bound soulmate?” Root said. “Pity. Need an alibi?”

“Really, that’s your reaction?”

“Soulmates, sweetie,” Root said. “You’re stuck with me.”

“God I hope not.”


	136. Need a Ride 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested sequel again!  
> And we're onto the last of the ones I put up as drafts before my holiday. Should probably write more now.

A weary Shaw walked back into the front of her car. After a few moments, a just-as-tired Root got into the other side. Night had fallen. Shaw slumped back in her seat, arms a bit too sore to start driving.

“Well that was a blast,” Root said.

Shaw said nothing.

Eventually they’d gotten tired of the stand-off. Neither was going to back down, and neither of them particularly wanted to be shot, so somehow they’d called a mutual truce. Shaw blamed it on exhaustion as much as anything.

They’d left both their guns in the trunk, along with the rest of Shaw’s collection of weaponry. It had taken a little to drag Root away from it.

“I like your arsenal,” Root said, hesitating just slightly before the final syllable.

“You can’t have them,” Shaw said.

“Just complimenting your taste,” Root said. “Especially if you’re my soulmate.”

“Don’t start.”

“That’s why you didn’t shoot me, isn’t it?” Root said.

“I didn’t shoot you because we had a stand-off,” Shaw said. “They never end well. Might as well get it over with.”

“Have to admit, we do suit each other,” Root said.

Shaw snorted, shifting in her seat. She looked away from Root, looking vaguely at the road ahead of them. Idly, she flicked the headlights on.

“Want to team-up?” Root said.

“I didn’t kill you, it doesn’t mean I like you,” Shaw said.

“Just speaking practically,” Root said. “You’re about as good as me, and I’m very good, so we could steal a lot more if you wanted to.”

Shaw paused.

“Got to admit, it would be fun,” Root said.

Shaw chuckled to herself. She’d admit, the idea of soulmates meeting and immediately teaming up for crime did appeal to her. Not that she wanted to consider being soulmates.

“Maybe,” Shaw said. “See how much you piss me off on the drive back to civilization.”

“Road trip already?” Root said.

She was grinning. Shaw sighed. Instinctively she reached for her glove compartment, only to remember her gun was in the trunk.

She looked sideways to Root. Yeah, that was probably a smart thing. Stand-off had gone on long enough, Shaw didn’t want another.

“If we do team up, can we share the guns?” Root said.

Shaw looked incredulously across.

“What?” Root said. “I’ll take good care of them, promise.”

“They’re mine.”

“I just want to borrow a few,” Root pouted. “Is that so bad?”

“Remind me why I let you live?” Shaw said.

“Because you love me.”

“I really doubt it.”


	137. Fair Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> From what I've heard, there may have been a few issues with updates and update notifications lately. When I went away I uploaded all the remaining chapters as drafts, and hit 'post chapter' rather than uploading them one at a time. By the sound of it, this made a few people not be alerted to the new chapters.   
> Just gotten through everything I uploaded back then, though, so hopefully this update will come through. Enjoy!

Caroline Turing. Shaw looked at the name on the door, scowling slightly. Sure, technically, she knew that therapy was meant to be important. A lot of people, after leaving the army, needed help to readjust.

She was just slightly insulted that a few friends had thought her irritability was PTSD, rather than, well, her.

Somehow she’d been talked into attending at least one session. To be honest, Shaw just wanted them to shut up. She’d picked the name of a nearby psychotherapist at random, and had more or less been dragged here.

Shaw glanced at her watch, sighed, then knocked on the door. After a moment, she entered.

A woman that was presumably Caroline Turing was sat on the far side of the desk, straightening suddenly as Shaw entered.

“I’m just here because I was forced into it,” Shaw said, before Caroline could speak. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m just going to sit here in silence for an hour.”

There was a pause. Caroline’s eyes darted sideways briefly, towards a door in the wall of the office, before she shrugged.

“Fair enough,” Caroline said.

Shaw hesitated. She sat down on the sofa, not entirely comfortable. For a few moments she regarded Caroline, not too sure what to make of that; were they soulmates? That would make today a whole lot worse.

If Caroline had heard her tattoo though, she didn’t say anything. To be honest, she seemed a little distracted.

“Fair enough?” Shaw echoed.

“Makes my job easier,” Caroline said. “A _lot_ easier, actually.”

“Ok,” Shaw said.

She paused. Well, therapists were allowed to be lazy too, she supposed. Shaw leaned back, closing her eyes.

She heard rustling, as Caroline looked through the papers on the desk. Shaw heard a muttered curse, before a sigh.

“Want a book?” Caroline said.

Shaw opened her eyes, slightly annoyed, peering forwards. Caroline was rooting around under the desk.

“I’ve got, uh, Intensive Short-Term Dynamic Psychotherapy,” Caroline said, lifting up a thick volume. “Something you’re interested in?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither. Not very good books here,” Caroline said.

“Isn’t it your office?” Shaw said.

“Uh, yeah,” Caroline said. “Just speaking in general. Never liked needing to have such a professional atmosphere.”

Well, not the worst therapist in the world then. Mildly annoying though. Shaw sighed again, and shifted on the sofa.

She could wait an hour. Boredom was easier than pouring her soul out and acting like she cared about anything. That was just tedious.

It was about half an hour before Caroline’s face fell.

“You really don’t want to talk?” she said.

“No,” Shaw said.

“Oh.”

“You said it was easier,” Shaw said.

“It is,” Caroline said. “Just very boring.”

“Not my problem.”

Caroline sighed. Shaw waited, eyes occasionally glancing at the clock on the wall. It always annoyed her how time passed so much more slowly when you needed it to go quickly.

“Tell you what,” Caroline said, “I don’t want you to think of me as a therapist-”

“Cliché much?”

“I want you to think of me as someone who killed the therapist before you got here.”

Shaw paused. She tilted her head back, to look at Caroline. She was still sitting there perfectly casually, grinning slightly.

“Less original,” Shaw conceded. “Fair enough.”

“Well, not killed,” Caroline said. “Tased and tied up. She’s in the toilet,” she gestured to the door in the wall Shaw had spotted earlier. “If you hear any whining, don’t worry about it.”

“I… won’t,” Shaw said.

Caroline nodded, apparently content.

“So, why did you do that?” Shaw said, conversationally. Maybe she could fill this hour with less painful conversation.

“Misread her timetable,” Caroline said. “I wanted to get to her four o’clock, appointment after you. He has some information I’m after.”

“Good luck with that,” Shaw said.

“Thank you,” Caroline said cheerily.

Well, Caroline was… different, then. Not the tedious, boring therapist Shaw had expected. And at least there was no expectation of back-and-forth.

Caroline reached for a scrap of paper, noting something down on it. She passed it along the desk, to Shaw.

“What’s that?” Shaw said.

“My number,” Caroline said. “For after.”

“Why would I want your number?”

“We’re soulmates, aren’t we?” Caroline said.

It took Shaw a moment to remember that Caroline had said her tattoo.

“You didn’t say anything when I came in,” Shaw said.

“I was distracted,” Caroline said. “Like I said, I misread the timetable. You weren’t the person I was expecting.”

“What’s the point of that story anyway?” Shaw said.

“Story?”

“You killing the therapist,” Shaw said.

“Tasing the therapist,” Caroline corrected.

“Whatever.”

“Just wanted to be honest with you, sweetie,” Caroline said. “It’s the foundation of a good relationship. So I’ve read.”

She lifted up another book from under her desk: Reawakening Intimacy in Relationships.

“Not much else to do in here but read,” Caroline said.

Shaw stared for a few seconds, before sighing. She reached across and took the number, pocketing it. She wasn’t quite sure why.

Caroline would probably be a much more entertaining person outside of a session though.

When the hour was up, Shaw gratefully stood, stretching slightly before walking out.

“Good luck with whoever’s next,” Shaw said.

“Thanks,” Caroline said. “Looking forward to it.”


	138. Watch It Princess 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel!

Shaw woke up, to find Root tracing the outline of the tattoo on her chest with one finger. Shaw waited for a few seconds, feeling each letter be sketched.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Shaw said, eventually.

“Just remembering,” Root said. “I said that.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. About a moment later she shifted violently, and tugged on the sheets. Root toppled out over the side of the bed.

“Serves you right,” Shaw said. “You know what this is, and how long it’s going to last. The moment you walk out that door, we’ll never see each other again.”

“I know,” Root said. “Means I ought to have a lot more fun while I can.”

Root pulled herself back up onto the bed. She was still beaming.

“Besides, if we’re soulmates, and we ran into each other a second time by luck, who’s to say we won’t manage it a third?” Root said.

“Me.”

“You’d go against the universe?”

“If it pisses me off, yeah,” Shaw said.

Root chuckled. She rolled over, lying back again closer to Shaw. That time, Shaw didn’t push her away.

“Not worth a second round then?” Root said, looking up. “I’m hurt.”

“Didn’t say that,” Shaw said. “Just get to it before I kick you out.”

“So demanding,” Root purred.

“That’s not anywhere near as endearing as you seem to think, princess,” Shaw said.

Root looked up pitifully. Shaw still glowered.

“So that’s a no on keeping in contact?” Root said.

“Of course.”

“But you wanted a round two,” Root said.

“Sure,” Shaw said. “I just don’t want to have to put up with you the rest of the time.”

Root regarded her for a few seconds; she tilted her head. Then Root beamed.

“I see your point,” Root said, before moving down.

* * *

It had been about a week since Root had been kicked, rather unceremoniously, from Shaw’s room. No number, no real details about Shaw picked up. Well, nothing that said anything about her life or her work.

For a little while, Root considered staking out the bar where they’d met before, on the off-chance Shaw was a regular. She did enjoying annoying Shaw.

Still, she decided against it. It probably wouldn’t work, and even if it did Root was fairly certain that it’d just end with a drink thrown in her face.  

So Root stopped putting quite so much thought into it, opting to file the encounter away as little more than an exceptionally fun memory.

In the end, it came out of nowhere. She was just wandering down the street, on the way to a shop, when she recognized the back of someone’s head. She hurried up, out of curiosity, and then beamed.

“Hello,” Root said, smiling.

Shaw took one, long look at her, and groaned. “Not you again.”


	139. Pizza

Root lugged her box up a small staircase, mentally recalling the floor and apartment number she’d been called to. Sure, pizza delivery might not be the most prolific career, but it was a living.

She went down the corridor, counting off doors, until she reached the right one. She lifted the pizza box in one hand, and knocked with the other.

It was a couple of seconds before the door opened, a dark-haired woman panting slightly, and looking out, relieved.

“Oh thank god,” she said, “My pizza, right?”

Root blinked. Sure, in theory, she’d known it was very likely she’d probably meet her soulmate on a delivery, with first words like that.

Still, this wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured it. A woman in a robe, apparently relaxing after a shower, a slightly dingy apartment building, and a happenstance meeting of soulmates when delivering a fricking pizza.

“Am I living in a porn film?” Root said, to herself as much as anyone.

The woman stiffened for a moment, then tilted her head. She regarded Root for a few seconds.

“Wouldn’t say no,” the woman eventually conceded. “Pizza first. I’m starved.”

Root handed over the box. The woman handed back payment.

“I’m not sharing the pizza,” the woman said, then peered at Root’s name-badge. “Root. And I’m eating it while it’s warm.”

“I’ll leave you two alone then,” Root said.

She began to move away, when the woman grabbed her arm.

“Worst porn ever,” she said. “You expected anywhere else?”

“Not at this hour,” Root said.

“Then stick around,” the woman said. “I’m Shaw.”

“Well hello Shaw,” Root said, playfully. “Bit clingy. Just want to have your soulmate around?”

“What?” Shaw said, and scowled. “Not in the slightest. You bring me food, that’s it. Besides, what kind of porn are you watching that the pizza gets delivered, and then the delivery girl wanders off?”

“I was wondering if this was one,” Root said, “I didn’t _want_ it to be a porn film.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows. Root looked at her for a few seconds, then re-evaluated.

“Ok, kinda did,” Root said. “Not the point.”

Shaw snorted, then took a step back inside. When the door stayed open, Root uncertainly followed. Walking into strangers’ apartments might not be the cleverest thing, but presumably her soulmate would be safe enough.

“Not waiting for it to go cold,” Shaw said. “You can wait. Not that long.”

“Got it,” Root said, slightly bemused.

So, her soulmate preferred food to her. Root wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.


	140. In Here 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to prison for another requested sequel.

Root and Shaw had managed a fairly successful enterprise together. Root had most of the contacts, and Shaw was pretty efficient at ensuring the right people paid Root back what she was owed.

All a soulmate meant, was trust. They were just a good team.

Root got things in from the outside, or made what she could on the inside. She sold to almost everyone, and had a remarkable memory for what each person wanted, and what they owed.

Sometimes Shaw would step up, with a glare, and the occasional fight. Violence was becoming less and less necessary, though.

“Doing ok, sweetie?” Root said.

Shaw sat up, wearily. She sighed.

“Miss beating people up?” Root said.

“A bit,” Shaw said.

“Aww.”

“You should pick more fights,” Shaw said.

“I can’t help it if you’re too good at being intimidating,” Root said. “That’s on you.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Could try acting cuter,” Root said. “That way people might be happier to go up against us.”

“ _Root_.”

“I’m seeing a bow in your hair,” Root said, “Maybe-”

“Root,” Shaw said. “Is this your way of picking a fight?”

“You said you wanted one,” Root said, shrugging.

That was the one problem with Root. Just because they made a good team didn’t mean she was anything but unbearable.

And Shaw couldn’t really openly fight her. It’d ruin the reputation they’d amassed, and they needed that. A good prison business was run on reputation. So long as everyone thought they were a team, not many people would face them.

Which was a mixed blessing in itself. Sure, there were advantages to success, the least of which was the whiskey Root got in. Still, it was so dull.

“Not with you,” Shaw said.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Root said.

“Not because of _that_ ,” Shaw said. “Would love to fight you sometimes. Just don’t want to lose access to whiskey because people think you’ve got a new enemy and want to take over.”

“So as long as you like drinking more than you’re mad at me, I’m fine?” Root said.

“For now,” Shaw said.

“I can live with that, sweetie.”

It was just Shaw’s luck to have a soulmate that was a pain.

Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t get a few bits of revenge. There were always a few shipments Root got brought in for personal reasons; Shaw had seen bunny slippers brought in alongside cigarettes and drugs.

There were a few every now and again, and Shaw had lately been asked to put in an appearance for the important shipments. She was a pretty good guard.

Which meant she knew when the shipments meant specifically for Root were meant to come in. Which meant, in turn, it was very easy for Shaw to slip a time and date to one of the guards.

It might have been petty, keeping Root from her bunny slippers or whatever luxuries she fancied bringing in for herself, but it was satisfying to get Root back.

A couple of days later, and Shaw was lounging in Root’s small dorm. As much of a pain as Root was, they were still a team.

“Hear they’re really going over the shipments today?” Shaw said.

“Mm,” Root said, absently.

“Wasn’t there one you wanted me to make sure got to you?” Shaw said.

“Yeah,” Root said, distracted. She leaned back. “Reminds me, had to delay that one.”

Of course she did. Shaw suppressed a groan.

“It’ll be brought in tomorrow instead,” Root said. “Got a tip. Apparently one of the guards I’ve got in my pocket heard that someone had leaked where the latest shipment was due.”

Damn it, Root and her network of guards. Shaw thought she’d figured out most of them; evidently not.

“Any idea who told?” Shaw said.

“Some,” Root said, smirking across. “Guard recommended I set you on them.”

“Give me a name,” Shaw said.

“Nah,” Root said, “Think I’ll let it slide this time, as much as I’d like to see you trying to hit yourself. Good try, though.”

She knew. Of course she knew. Shaw sighed.

“What gave it away?” Shaw said, wearily.

“You’ve been perky the last few days,” Root said. Shaw looked at her, disbelievingly. “Well, perky by your standards.”

Shaw slumped back. Well, it figured. If nothing else, though, she’d manage to inconvenience Root. It was some small payback.

“So, this is how it’s going to be?” Root said. “I tease you, you work behind the scenes to get the non-alcoholic shipments delayed?”

“Pretty much,” Shaw said. “If you’re going to be as irritating as that, it’s only fair.”

“Looking forward to it,” Root grinned.


	141. Enlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to idly speculating as to how the soulmate-universe would work. Think I've mentioned the gimmick of this one occasionally before, but not really focused on it. Enjoy!

Shaw knew the process for enlistment; she’d mentally gone through it all day before arriving. Go to a processing station, sit a long tedious test, and then get through the physical exam.

She’d gotten through most of it. By the sound of it she’d done well, which just left her with two meetings left.

The last was little more than a courtesy; decide which path she wanted to follow. It was the other that annoyed her.

Way too much seemed to be about soulmates. It didn’t matter how many times she told people she wasn’t interested, no one ever seemed to believe it. If she had a tattoo indicating a romantic soulmate, she was expected to meet and care about them.

And, naturally enough, the military didn’t want anyone running into their soulmate when out on a mission. The motivation for that was either wanting to avoid conflicted priorities, or wanting to avoid putting a recruit in a situation where they’d suffer through the personal consequences of harming their perfect match. It just depended on who you asked.

 _Sit down_ was Shaw’s tattoo, and it was far too vague. That was her one worry. Most people seemed to get tattoos which showed they definitely wouldn’t meet their soulmate on a battlefield.

Maybe it was a reference to a place, maybe it was too technical or too unlikely… ‘Sit down,’ though, was something that could be heard either at a school or in a hostage situation.

It’d be just her luck if after all this her damn soulmate stopped her enlisting.

Even swearing she had zero interest in a soulmate didn’t seem to count for much.

She’d considered lying. Some people with awkward tattoos were allowed in if they’d already met their soulmate. Shaw didn’t have many friends, but she could probably convince one to pretend to be her soulmate.

Technically those people had to sign a legally binding document, but the military did tend to turn a blind eye, unless forced not to if the recruit did indeed end up running into their soulmate in the field.

Getting someone to lie for her was easy, but annoyingly her friends seemed to balk at breaking the law.

“Sameen Shaw, here to enlist,” Shaw said, as soon as she stepped through the door.

The woman at the table looked up to her, and gestured to a chair.

“Sit down,” she said, “Relax. Give me a moment to call up your file.”

Emphatically ignoring the woman’s first words, Shaw went over to the chair. She sat down, and waiting, eyeing the name on the desk: just ‘Root.’

“Right,” Root said. “So, you’re here for tattoo evaluation, right?”

Shaw nodded. She watched as Root clicked a folder open on her computer, scrolling down and scanning.

“Right,” Root said. “Here we are. Shaw, Sameen. Right, good ASVAB, impressive body…”

Shaw was about fifty percent sure Root was looking at the data from her physical.

“So, soulmate…” Root said. She clicked something. “Says here it, oh, ‘sit down.’”

Shaw paused. She tried not to visibly tense, hoping Root wouldn’t remember she’d said that first. Shaw really didn’t want to deal with a soulmate.

It didn’t seem like she had. Root’s face fell slightly.

“That could be a problem,” Root said.

“Could it?”

“It’s something you’re likely to hear if we deploy you anywhere,” Root said. “Even if you just hear it from your CO, that can go against regulation. They’re meant to be fair: what’s everyone going to think if they hear you’re soulmates?”

“I wouldn’t care,” Shaw said. “Not interested in a soulmate.”

Root paused, briefly.

“They might be,” Root said. “That still means there’s a problem. And you never really know what you’ll do until you meet them.”

“I do,” Shaw said.

“Really?” Root said. For a moment, she seemed almost playful. “I can apply for a waiver if you really want, but I’ve never seen one granted on those grounds. It’d be a waste of time.”

“You’re sure?” Shaw said.

Damn it, it couldn’t be over like this could it? It was such a stupid hurdle to fall at. She really was going to kill her soulmate.

“Afraid so,” Root said. “Unless you’ve met your soulmate already, I’m afraid I can’t approve.”

Shaw paused.

“Think about it,” Root said. “Are you sure there’s no one you’ve met who could be your soulmate?”

Shaw stared. Root knew. Damn it, she’d probably known since before Shaw had walked in the room. Root would have ‘Sameen Shaw’ tattooed on her chest, at the very least.

Great.

Shaw stared. Root continued looking at her, only the twinkle in her eye belying her otherwise official-seeming poise.

And Root wasn’t letting this go. Root tilted her head, questioningly, and patiently.

“There… _might_ be someone,” Shaw said, gritting her teeth.

“Excellent,” Root said. She beamed, hitting a couple of keys. “Will need them to sign a form to that effect, but sure that won’t be hard. Do you love her?”

“Less and less,” Shaw said.

“Aww, sorry to hear that,” Root said. “Is she happy with you joining the military?”

“She’d better bloody be.”

Root chuckled to herself.

“What’s your number?” Root said, in the same casual tone she’d asked the other questions in.

“Haven’t you got it already in that mess of forms?” Shaw said.

“Good thought,” Root said, immediately clicking something.

Shaw groaned.

“Well then,” Root said, “I don’t foresee a problem. You’ll get a phone call tonight,” Root paused. “Nothing to do with enlistment, just want at least one date before you’re shipped off to basic training.”

“Not happening.”

Root pouted.

“Still not happening.”


	142. Madam President 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel.

Root sat at her desk, looking through a fairly thick sheaf of papers. Every few seconds she faltered, gripping the sheets a little more tightly.

“Madam President?”

There were three suits on the far side of the desk, representatives from the CIA, DIA and ISA; more acronyms than Root could be bothered with. Though she’d had a security briefing pre-election, there were always more secrets that were only told to the President.

Root knew a few of the projects, but a couple were new even to her.

“Northern Lights?” Root said. “Does that project have enough money? It sounds expensive. If you need any more sent that way…”

“The current budget is on page 14,” the woman from the ISA said. Root had no idea what her name was; she’d only introduced herself with a codename. “It requires very little extra. Maintenance is minimal, and all it provides is information. The costs of acting on the information are separate.”

“Got it,” Root said.

She flicked through the booklet again, quickly. It had been a long, slightly tedious, meeting, but she’d be thinking about a few of the nation’s secrets for days.

Plus she’d found a way to derive some enjoyment. Root bit her lip, tensing briefly, before looking back up.

“Ok,” Root said, “Is this the point one of you tells me about the aliens?”

The three looked at each other, uncertain.

“Just checking,” Root said, cheerily. “Ok, you’re dismissed. Thank you for your service.”

The three trailed out. Root watched as they closed the door to her office behind them, waited a few seconds, then let out one long, long sigh.

When she was done, she closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and waited. Eventually she squared the papers up, sliding them to the side of her desk.

She was meant to shred them, she knew, but she wanted a reread.

“Ok,” Root said, slightly flushed. “They’re gone.”

She slid her chair back, and Shaw moved out from under the desk. Shaw stood up, wiping her mouth with one hand, before moving to one of the chairs.

“Fairly sure I don’t have the clearance to sit in on any of that,” Shaw said.

“Fairly sure you weren’t meant to be doing that either,” Root said. She shrugged, and gestured under the desk. “Hope you’re not complaining.”

“Not exactly.”

Root smirked.

Shaw resumed her place by the back of the room, standing smartly. It wasn’t necessarily needed for her to be there all the time, but it wasn’t forbidden either.

Given that there were certainly numerous potential scandals in a President and secret service agent dating each other, Shaw was fairly sure risks weren’t the smartest course of action. She also was fairly sure she didn’t care.

“Don’t think they suspected,” Root said. “I’m a little disappointed.”

“You _want_ to be caught?”

“Would be fun,” Root beamed, then shook her head. “I want them to wonder, at least. Getting away scot-free isn’t as fun as a close call.”

“I can see why people wanted you to lead the country,” Shaw said, flatly.

“Thank you,” Root said, brightly.


	143. Help

Shaw sat at the bar, gulping down her drink. It was good to relax when the day had worn down. She closed her eyes, letting the alcohol burn her throat, before ordering another.

It was a somewhat rowdy bar. On top of the drink, there were a couple of things Shaw liked to do for stress relief, and both of them she could get here. One was obvious, and then there were the people who liked to pick fights.

Otherwise, she didn’t pay much attention. Zeroing in on any sound ruined the ambience. It was much better to let all the noise blur together.

She was halfway through her third glass when a tug at her arm dragged her from her reverie.

“Can you help?” a woman said, at her side. “Got a creep who won’t take no for an answer.”

She gestured back over her shoulder. Shaw turned her gaze, catching sight of a burly-looking guy who was already lumbering over.

Shaw took another brief look at the woman. She knew the first words her soulmate would say to her, and those were it. Shaw sighed.

Ok, so soulmates weren’t a priority. Still, she had wanted a fight.

Shaw stood up, taking a step around the woman. The guy had already reached them. He stopped as Shaw got in the way.

“And you are?” he said.

So rude. Shaw paused for a moment: then, seeing the slightly lecherous glance he gave her soulmate, lashed out.

The fight lasted a rather dull three seconds. He gave a slow, lumbering punch; she caught his arm, yanked it down to the bar, and there was a sickening crack as she struck it with her other palm. Then there were two more as she slammed her fist down on his hand.

Yowling, the man backed away, cradling the one arm. Rolling her eyes, Shaw went back to her seat.

The woman was staring at her.

“Thanks?” the woman said, slightly breathless.

“Wanted to hit someone,” Shaw said. “Thank _you_.”

The woman’s eyes went even wider. Apparently she recognized those words.

“Sorry for troubling you,” the woman said. “Could normally do it myself, but had my taser confiscated. Something about excessive force,” the woman shrugged. “I’m Root.”

“Shaw.”

“Nice moves.”

Shaw shrugged.

“So, possessive?” Root said, after a bit.

“What?” Shaw said.

“That,” Root said, gesturing to the guy still whimpering in the corner. “Do you normally get that violent, or do you just not like people hitting on your soulmate?”

“I told you, I wanted to hit someone,” Shaw said.

“That much?”

“Why not?”

There was a pause. Root regarded Shaw for a few moments, an unreadable smirk on her face.

“Ok,” Root said. “I’ll believe you.”

Her tone said pretty much the exact opposite.

“ _Root_.”

“What?” Root said. “Guy creeps on your soulmate, you break his arm and probably shatter a couple of fingers, perfectly ordinary behaviour. Not protective at all.”

Shaw glared. Root continued beaming. 


	144. Watch Where You're Walking 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel!

Shaw woke up, scarring on her cheek prickling. She idly scratched it with one hand, shifting in her bed.

There was that cliché, that when someone lost one sense, their others were heightened. Shaw couldn’t really remember how it had been before, but it certainly felt true.

She could feel someone’s weight on her bed. It was subtle, they were some way away, but Shaw remembered exactly how her mattress felt, and moved, normally.

That was the issue with knowing whether her sense had improved; before, she’d likely have just seen the person. There was no way to tell if she’d have spotted them with her other senses, because she wouldn’t have needed to.

“Root,” Shaw said, slightly annoyed.

They still weren’t sharing a bed. It didn’t mean there was any lack of intimacy, it was just a matter of practicality. Root always seemed to have a messy room, while Shaw navigated by remembering what was where.

There was an amused breath.

“Ok, how do you keep doing that?” Root said.

“You’re never subtle,” Shaw said.

Root chuckled.

“Can always tell when you’re near,” Shaw said. “Spend enough time around someone, you get to recognize them.”

There was a shift in pressure. Shaw felt the tug of sheets and gentle quake of the mattress, signalling Root sidling closer to her. She felt breath on her face.

With pinpoint precision, Shaw lifted one hand and pushed Root to one side. Root laughed, before sitting up.

“So, what do I look like?” Root said.

“Asking the wrong person.”

“No, I mean, to you,” Root said. “I know how everyone else sees me. Dark hair, hot, winning smile-”

“The more you say it, the less I believe it.”

“But what about you?” Root said. “Kinda always been curious. What do you think of when you picture me?”

Shaw waited. When the pressure on the bed didn’t shift, Shaw closed her eyes. Ok, they were doing this.

It wasn’t really a picture. More, it was a combination of associations, snippets she knew to represent Root.

“First, you’re a pain,” Shaw said. “Any time I start to feel annoyed for no reason, I can tell you’re in the room.”

“You say the nicest things.”

“Then there’s the sounds you make,” Shaw said.

“Kinky.”

“Not like that,” Shaw said. “Your breathing, your voice. Sounds of exertion when you move a bit too quickly, or move something. Voices are distinctive, and that’s basically talking.”

Root didn’t say anything. Shaw was reasonably sure she was just trying to be a smart-ass.

“And there’s the way you carry yourself,” Shaw said, “If I pay attention. Your footsteps. I can’t do that with most people, but I spend too much time around you. If I can hear them, you’re lighter on your feet than most people. You don’t run, but you do scurry.”

“I scurry?” Root said. “Not very flattering.”

“You asked.”

“I did,” Root said. “Go on.”

She seemed slightly amused. Shaw hesitated, not quite used to Root, well, actually sitting down and listening. Sure, Shaw was dimly aware that Root did listen, she had to if she fulfilled most of Shaw’s requests, but she never gave any impression of doing so.

And now Root was sitting there, as intent as ever.

“Lastly, if I get close to you, I can feel you,” Shaw said. “I know the length of your hair, and how soft it is. I know just how warm your skin is. You’ve got slightly more pronounced contours on your face than most people; mouth frown lines, and that dip on your chin.”

There was a pause.

“Root?” Shaw said.

“That was almost sweet,” Root said, breaking the silence.

Shaw sighed.


	145. Can I Make This Really Hard For You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a request fill this time. Had the idea separately to the request, but they fit together well.

Shaw sat in the office, a little wearily. You steal _one_ car, hit up _one_ corner shop, and suddenly you had to go through all this kerfuffle.

Her assigned public defender was a Mr Finch. As there wasn’t really much of a way for her to pretend to be anything but guilty, that just left them to figure out a plea bargain.

And then the prosecuting ADA had walked in, sat down, and, “I can offer you three years.”

Shaw took a good, long look at the ADA. She was dressed up nicely, smart and refined, and undeniably good-looking. Also, apparently, Shaw’s soulmate.

“Unacceptable,” Finch said.

“Better than five years, which is what you’ll get if this goes to trial,” the ADA said. “Only reason you’re getting a plea deal is to save time.”

“You know as well as I that judges can be unpredictable,” Finch said. “And if you want to save time, I suggest you give my client what she wants.”

“Which is?”

“Two years. Suspended,” Finch said.

The ADA gave an admittedly delightful peal of laughter.

“Three years,” she said.

Finch paused.

“Still three years,” the ADA said.

“This isn’t how negotiation-”

“It’s not negotiation, Harry,” she said.

The ADA sat where she was, perfectly resolute. Finch paused, not surprised, just slightly disappointed. The two regarded each other for a moment.

Shaw reached forward to Finch’s notepad, quickly scrawling down a question: _what’s her name?_

Finch glanced down, and wrote _Root_ back, before looking back across to the ADA.

“The only reason we’re having this talk is that you’re willing to go down,” Finch said.

“Like you said, judges are unpredictable,” Root said. “But we’ve got solid eyewitness accounts, and a couple of other things I’d like to surprise you with if we get to court. I like our chances.”

“No past convictions-”

“Plenty of past accusations,” Root said.

“None of which is admissible.”

“You know how juries are,” Root said. She shrugged. “Even if they’re ordered to forget something, they never quite can.”

Finch stopped for a moment, considering. Shaw cleared her throat.

“Root?” Shaw said. The ADA looked at her. “Can I make this really hard for you?”

Shaw couldn’t help but smile at the shocked expression on Root’s face. Well, if she was going to have a soulmate, she might as well get something from it.

Finch looked between them, slightly baffled. Well, he didn’t need to know.

“Three years,” Root said again, after a few moments. “Two suspended.”

“Three suspended,” Finch said.

“Your client committed grand theft auto and stole most of the drink in a shop at gunpoint,” Root said. “You’re lucky we’re not pressing charges for driving under the influence.”

“Allegedly,” Finch said. “And the evidence for driving under the influence is strictly circumstantial, as I’ll be happy to point out.”

“And who doesn’t like a party?” Shaw said.

“Miss Shaw,” Finch said, turning. “Can I recommend you let me do the talking?”

Shaw shrugged. When Finch had turned away, she fixed her gaze on Root. Root seemed to have ended up slightly flustered.

“A year in prison,” Root said. “Two years’ probation. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Finch considered it. Uncertainly, he looked back, noting how Shaw was still meeting Root’s gaze head on. Turning forwards again, he saw Root still utterly unblinking.

For a few seconds, it was like they’d forgotten he was in the room. Finch cleared his throat.

“Miss Shaw?” he said. “I must agree with the ADA, it is a good deal.”

“She can do better,” Shaw said.

Another stare. Another pause. Root muttered something under her breath, then gave an exhausted sigh.

“Six months and two years suspended,” Root said. “And that really is the best I can do.”

An increasingly mystified Finch looked back to Shaw.

“I can live with that,” Shaw said.

“Then we have a deal,” Root said. She sat there for a while longer, possibly debating the merits of the whole idea of soulmates, while Shaw gave a satisfied smile.


	146. Take Me To Your Boss 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fair few people wanted more of this AU, so enjoy!

Root, public enemy number one, as far as the ISA was concerned. Also, apparently, Shaw’s soulmate.

She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or annoyed by the universe’s assessment. She wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of being paired by a criminal, but if it had to be one, why not the best?

Shaw stayed with Root: or Connie Rayleigh, as she was still known to the ISA. She was meant to keep an eye on ‘Connie.’

Not that Root seemed to do anything that required leaving her computer. Already, she’d amassed an impressive pack of information off the dark web, for the people the ISA had pointed her at.

Shaw sat by the corner of the room, watching carefully.

“What are you doing?” Shaw said, as she did every few minutes.

“Working,” Root said. “Looking for information.”

“On your targets?”

“No.”

Shaw sighed. While she’d admit Root had skill, Root never seemed great at sticking to one task at a time.

“Is it legal?” Shaw said.

“No.”

And that too. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Just curious,” Root said. “What’ll I have to do to be put under the ISA’s protection?”

“Why do you care?”

“Presumably that’ll mean I have to be put into one of your safe-houses,” Root said. “There are a few in nice places. Have you been to the one in Greece? Lovely setting.”

Shaw sat up, hurriedly crossing the room. On the computer was an indecipherable mass of figures and accounting that Root definitely shouldn’t have access to, and a list of various locations.

Shaw recognized a few of them. She knew the safe-houses she’d stayed in, and most of their addresses seemed to be on that list.

“Do you get to choose the destination, or do they pick it for you?” Root said.

“Would you mind doing your job, rather than looking up top secret information?”

“Spoilsport,” Root said. She smiled. “Suppose Root was to leak information about vaguely innocent Connie Rayleigh to groups that are active all over the world, with a gap in the web down in Greece, would that mean she’d be sent there, or…”

“You’re not using the ISA to get a holiday,” Shaw said.

“Couples’ retreat?”

“Get back to work,” Shaw said.

She reached down, closing the window. Root pouted.

“Do you know how long it took me to find that?” she said.

“Not long enough,” Shaw said. “I’ll have a word with cybersecurity.”

“Don’t bother,” Root said, “I left my signature. They’ll blame Root, beef it up, and I get to have more fun next time I plan on booking a holiday.”

Wearily, Shaw turned and walked back to her chair. It was basically impossible to babysit Root, she’d found.

Just let Root do whatever she was doing, stop her if it got too far, but otherwise just keep out of the way.

“Out of curiosity, why haven’t you turned me in?” Root said.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I checked your most-wanted list,” Root said. “Impressive job on getting most of my aliases, by the way, even if they’re under four positions.”

“Wait, four?”

“I know I’m number one,” Root said. She beamed, as though being public enemy number one was akin to a gold medal. “Sure you could get a promotion, or something, out of it.”

Shaw shrugged.

“Just want to spend time with your soulmate?” Root said. “I knew you were a romantic at heart.”

“If you don’t want to get turned in, don’t be a pain,” Shaw said.

One of these days, she was going to figure out why she hadn’t dragged Root back into the ISA after hearing her name. One of these days.

Root turned her attention back to the computer. As her fingers started dancing over the keys, Shaw harboured a bit of hope that she was going after her assigned targets at last.

No such luck, apparently. After a few minutes, Shaw wandered over to check, only to find Root with Shaw’s confidential ISA profile open.

“ _Root_.”

“What?” Root said, looking up innocently. “Can’t blame me for being curious about my soulmate.”

“Get back to work.”

“But it’s interesting,” Root said. “Professional evaluation: Sameen Shaw is a dedicated, focused, consummate professional who won’t unnecessarily-”

Root paused, then clicked something. Somehow she ended up able to edit Shaw’s profile.

“What do you think?” Root said. “’Just a big softie?’ Seems like something missing from-”

Shaw shot the computer. Root blinked.

“Well that was a waste,” Root said, after a long moment.

“It’s what you get for not doing what you’re supposed to,” Shaw said.

“But there’s nothing else to do,” Root said. “Your secure places are a bit plain. A phone, a toilet, a computer you just broke, handcuffs, hood, and a bed. Without the laptop what are we meant to-”

Root paused, looking contemplatively back across the room.

“Actually-”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Shaw said. “I’ll call it in, order another computer, and you can start working.”

“And in the mean time?”

“We wait.”

“And do?”

“We don’t _do_ anything, we wait,” Shaw said.

Root pouted.

Shaw stared.

“Handcuffs-” Root began

“We _wait_.”


	147. Who Yelled That?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I get requests for just individual lines. When I can I try to make them first-words, though in this case it didn't quite work out that way.   
> Enjoy!

Root didn’t know why it had taken her so long. Well, she did; she usually didn’t bother with too many events. Computers could manage astonishing amount. Even so.

Coming to a Pride had always been vaguely on her mind though. Enough people talked about it, and eventually Hanna had convinced her.

So here she was. Hanna kept by her side, as much to show her around as anything.

Food, souvenirs, people; if nothing else, there was an atmosphere.

And then Hanna was tugging on her arm, and Root went along with her. They ended up by the edge of a road, just on the opposite side of a temporary metal fence.

Apparently the parade was beginning. Bikes slowly began their route down the road, ridden by various women. Some waved at the crowd, some focused on driving.

It was hard to not get caught up in the mood. Root found herself cheering along with the rest of the people around her, watching the steady troupe.

“I love your jacket!” Root cried out, to one of the bikers.

She was just trying to get into the spirit of the event. It was true at any rate, that particular biker was quite the impressive figure; eyes forward, leather jacket.

She wasn’t expecting the biker to suddenly swerve, losing control at the sound of those words. It seemed initially to be a jerk from shock, but once it began there was no regaining control in the short distance from the centre of the road to the nearest fence.

The crowd around that point hastily backed away moments before the bike clattered into the fence.

Meanwhile, the rest of the riders briefly slowed, before establishing things were ok, and being gestured on by the crashed woman.

“Ok, who yelled that?” the woman said, slowly getting up.

Root was already nearing that point, out of curiosity. Hanna was watching with amusement.

Root stuck her hand up, a little self-consciously. With the woman closer, her top exposed just enough of her chest for Root to make out _I love y_ \- scrawled into her skin.

So, she’d met her soulmate. By making them crash into a fence. Figured.

“Hi?” Root said, nervously.

By then, Hanna had caught up, caught sight of the woman’s tattoo (briefly made clearer as she stood up), and was bent over laughing and holding onto Root’s arm to not completely fall over.

“And you are?” the woman said.

“Root.”

“Shaw,” a pause. “So, this your first pride?”

She seemed slightly bemused now. That was probably a relief. A soulmate encounter couldn’t really get worse from starting with a crash.

“Yeah,” Root said. “How’d you-”

“Figured I’d have heard from you before if it wasn’t,” Shaw said.

She used her bike as a platform to quickly leap over the fence, before approaching Root. For her part, Root was still briefly stunned.

“Plus that’s a terrible shirt,” Shaw said.

Root glanced down. Ok, Shaw had a point there; she’d tried a bit too hard to get into the spirit of Pride and picked a somewhat too-gaudy top.

Still, Root smiled, looking up. Prides might be new to her, and she might be slightly reeling from meeting her soulmate, but at least she knew what to do when someone gave the perfect opportunity for an innuendo.

“Fine,” Root said, “Want me to take it off?”

Shaw blinked.

“Later,” Shaw said. She paused. “You owe me.”

“I do?”

“The bike.”

Root chuckled. Ok, she had a point there.


	148. What The Hell Are You Doing Here? 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel!

Root would give Shaw this; she was almost too good at disappearing. Shaw had stolen her car, along with the painting they’d both been after, and the next time Root saw her car it was a burnt out wreck by the side of the road.

Which would have been the end of the trail for most people. You couldn’t really ask fences who brought what in, their whole business came from secrecy, so Root had to call in a favour.

The easiest way to find out who had a painting, was to express an interest in buying it. Sellers came out of the woodwork.

Plus, Root had acquired Shaw’s car. After all, Shaw could only drive off in one. She’d switched the plates so it couldn’t be tracked down if it was reported as stolen, and she searched it from top to bottom.

The GPS had plenty of addresses saved in it; far too many to go through one by one. Once Root found out who was selling the painting, though, she started there and worked her way outwards.

After all, Shaw wouldn’t have sold to any fence unnecessarily far away. Root had the impression she only sold to people she trusted.

A day later, and Root was knocking on a door. It opened, and a rather irate looking Shaw was standing there.

It was odd to see her dressed casually, like seeing a politician in a onesie. After seeing Shaw only in the dark, form-fitting, strictly practical outfit she’d used for thieving, Root struggled to picture her in anything else.

“Oh, great,” Shaw said. “You.”

“You stole my car,” Root said.

“You tried to steal my painting.”

“Wasn’t really yours,” Root said.

“Would’ve been.”

Root tilted her head, conceding that particular point. Shaw had gotten away with it anyway.

“Bad news about your car,” Shaw said, “Wasn’t going to let anyone trace it back to me.”

“I saw,” Root said. “I kept your car, by the way. Hotwired. Not giving it back.”

“I’ll console myself with the few million I got for the painting,” Shaw said.

Smug was an interesting look on her soulmate, Root reflected. Not completely unattractive.

“Up for a round two?” Root said.

“What?”

“Pick another painting,” Root said. “Any painting. See who gets it this time. Bet you I’ll win.”

“Nah,” Shaw said. “I’ll think I’ll rest. Got plenty to live off of, Turner’s worth a lot.”

“What’s life without a little bit of fun?” Root said. She smirked.

Shaw considered.

“What are the stakes?” Shaw said.

“If I win, you have to go on a date with me,” Root said, beaming.

Shaw glared.

“And when you lose?” Shaw said.

“Competitive, I like it,” Root said. “How about, I have to go on a date with you?”

Shaw moved to close the door. Root hastily stuck her foot against the frame, wincing only slightly at the force behind Shaw’s slam.

“You tell me,” Root said. “What do you want? Seems like you’d just enjoy beating me.”

“True,” Shaw said. “How about a favour?”

“A blank cheque?” Root said.

“Exactly,” Shaw said. “Whatever I want, whenever I ask, one time only.”

Root hesitated. That could be quite a risk. Certainly, she wasn’t someone exactly renowned for keeping her word, but if she was going to respect a bet, it might as well be with her soulmate.

“If you’re scared…” Shaw said.

“It’s a bet,” Root said. She beamed. “Looking forward to going up against you again, sweetie.”

“Looking forward to coming out on top,” Shaw said.

“Think you’d look better on the bottom, personally.”

It took about a second before Shaw shut the door again. Root scrawled her number down on a sheet of paper, and slipped it under the door, before walking away chuckling.


	149. Howdy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory Shoot Western AU, written for the sake of one line.   
> Anyway, more general note. If you have any requests, whether for lines or settings etc, please post them in a comment. I'm getting a lot of sequel requests, and happy with that, but I like to at least alternate so it's not all sequels.

There was this cliché about horse riding, Shaw had found. Everyone always seemed to default to it, when they thought of crossing the trails between towns. Certainly, it was easier than going on foot. Shaw wouldn’t want to attempt the crossings unaided, not alone at least.

She’d always favoured riding a donkey, though. They were slower, yes, but they were sturdier. Plus a bad temper suited her just fine.

It might take her longer to get around, but most journeys couldn’t be made in one day anyway. If she couldn’t look after herself, hunt and make a fire, a horse wouldn’t help her any more.

Donkeys also helped do away with the threat of horse-thieves. Handling a donkey was an entirely different experience; they had a reputation for being stubborn, and tended to freeze up at the same stimulus that’d spur a horse on. Horse-thieves would get nothing from her.

Shaw sat on her mount’s back, lifting the brim of her hat just slightly to better peer over the plains. She was getting closer to a town.

Her ride’s steady gait continued. She waited patiently, watching as the town almost seemed to slide into place around her, appearing building by building.

It was always preferred to stay in a saloon, rather than out on the trail. She guided her donkey through the town, finding the location of the saloon, before seeking out the stables.

“Howdy,” a woman said, from the porch of the saloon.

Shaw looked down.

“Nice ass,” the woman said. Shaw blinked, and the woman smirked. “Like the donkey too.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, and turned her head. The donkey lead her away.

A few minutes later, and Shaw was walking the dusty streets. She stretched her legs out, needing to after how much time she’d spent riding, and found her way back. The woman was no longer standing around outside.

Shaw knew those words well enough; soulmates were a liability when you needed to travel. Hopefully they’d have left.

Shaw pushed her way through the swinging doors, pausing for a moment on the threshold to inhale. She did miss the ambience. Idly, she wandered over to the bar, and sat herself down, gesturing to the bartender.

“If it isn’t the girl with the ass,” the woman sat down beside her. “Let me buy you this round.”

“Never say no to a free drink,” Shaw said.

Shaw turned. Now, of course, the woman was beaming. Shaw fought the urge to shoot her. The nickname was bad enough, she should’ve guessed revealing that they were soulmates would make her worse.

When the drink arrived, Shaw gulped it down. Alcohol helped, at least.

“Want another?” the woman said. “Why not? I’ve got plenty of winnings to spend.”

Shaw glanced sideways.

“And you are?” Shaw said.

“Call me Root,” she said. “So long as you don’t tell anyone. Have a different name in every town.”

“Any reason why?”

“So word doesn’t spread,” Root said. “I gamble, win, move on. People get so touchy when you make off with their money.”

Root dropped a handful of coins onto the table. Well, that’d take care of their combined tab for the rest of the night. Shaw nodded, moderately impressed.

“And you?” Root said. “Interesting ride. Just waiting for someone to compliment you’re a-”

“ _Stop_ saying that,” Shaw hissed.

“Why else have one?” Root said.

“Not for that,” Shaw said. “I prefer them to horses. That’s it.”

“And what brings you this far back?”

“Just heading back from collecting a bounty,” Shaw said.

“Would’ve thought that’s an occupation you’d need speed for,” Root said.

“If I end up in a situation where I’m chasing them on horseback, I’ve already failed,” Shaw said.

She gulped another mouthful of the burning drink down.

“Need any company?” Root said.

“I’m not staying.”

“Me neither,” Root said.

She gestured to a corner of the room, where some men were playing cards. They were hunched over, but apparently just playing for scribbles on paper. Every now and again, one shot a dirty look over to Root.

“I think I’ve outstayed my welcome,” Root said.

“I get the feeling you do that a lot,” Shaw said. Root shrugged, smiling coquettishly as though it were a compliment.

“It’s a skill,” Root said. “Besides, I can pay for your drinks.”

A ‘no’ died on Shaw’s tongue. A soulmate might be a liability, but if she was paying for things, Shaw could work with that.

“Depends,” Shaw said. “Where are you heading?”

“Anywhere they’ve got a card table,” Root said.

“Fine,” Shaw said, and sighed. “Tomorrow.”


	150. Well This Is Awkward 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel time!

“Ok, why are we here?” Shaw said.

“It’ll be fun,” Root said, beaming. “They think we’re friends.”

“They _did_ ,” Shaw said. “Then they’d have picked up on the fact we ran away, none of them know us, and their computers and guns are missing.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport,” Root said.

“You’re the one who wants to go be friends with the people we robbed,” Shaw said.

“They seemed nice enough,” Root said. “Besides, we got away with it.”

“Because we got out _fast_.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of refuge in audacity?” Root said. “If you act like you’re meant to be there, no one bats an eye.”

“That explains far too much about you,” Shaw said.

“But it works,” Root said. “Besides, they seemed like nice people.”

Shaw’s gaze drifted to the background. There stood the house where she and Root had met; the one they’d both stolen from, gotten a bit too close in one of the beds, before escaping out the window.

Somehow Root had dragged her back. The cliché was that criminals always returned to the scene of the crime; Shaw had never wanted to be a cliché.

“If this goes south, I’m blaming you,” Shaw said.

Root grinned, then led the way to the door. Shaw kept a few steps behind her, fully intending to run away and leave Root behind should they be recognized.

The door opened, and the man Shaw just about remembered was called John. Root immediately beamed.

“Hello,” she said, brightly. “Sorry we had to leave suddenly last time, we got called away.”

John blinked.

“Didn’t you go out through the window?” he said.

“No,” Root said, perfectly straight-faced. “Hurried out the door. Didn’t you see us? Thought we left a note.”

“Not that we found,” John said, slowly.

Meanwhile, Shaw was staring incredulously at Root. She’d managed to pick up the fact that Root was an adept liar, but this was still worryingly impressive. Even she was starting to believe her.

Shaw could more or less see the suspicion fading from John’s face. Even beyond the barefaced lies, presumably he thought, like her, that this was just far too ridiculous a thing for thieves to do.

“We’re friends of Harold,” Root said. “I knew him at MIT, along with Nathan. Haven’t really stayed in touch, but wanted to surprise him.”

Ok, that was slightly impressive, Shaw would admit. Most of Root’s information came from files she’d found on the stolen laptops, before purging them of data. It wasn’t the kind of thing a stranger would know.

“Right,” John said. He paused, again. “Come in?”

“Thanks,” Root said, beaming. “Love to. Oh, and by the way, could you do us a small favour?”

“What?”

“Pretend we’re your friends,” Root said. “Like I said, it’s been a while, I want to know how long it’ll take for Harry to recognize us. You can needle him about it after.”

John snorted, but nodded. He stepped back, and gestured, and Root moved over the threshold.

If he was thinking anything about the thefts that had coincided with their last ‘visit,’ he didn’t say anything. Maybe Root had allayed his suspicion, or maybe he just thought thieves would normally have a certain level of intelligence and/or sanity. A level Root evidently lacked.

“Coming sweetie?” Root said. She turned, and mouthed ‘told you.’

Rolling her eyes, and expecting to regret it, Shaw followed.

Still, she’d admit, Root did have some style.


	151. Miss Root

Shaw questioned her own decisions, sometimes. She’d adopted Gen a couple of years ago, getting her out of an unfortunate family situation. It was meant to just be a quick favour, and now she was somehow raising her.

Ok, Gen wasn’t as unbearable as most kids. She listened sometimes, she was a quick learner, but still. It was exhausting; all the more so when it came to dealing with school.

Shaw was called in by someone on the reception desk, and found her way to Gen’s classroom. Gen had mentioned the teacher a few times; she liked her. Miss Something-or-Other, one of those slightly pretentious teachers who liked to ‘foster an atmosphere of closeness’ and asked her students to call her Root.

Shaw knocked on the classroom door, and walked in a moment later. For the most part, the room was empty. Gen sat in her chair, while Root sat marking papers at the other end of that block of tables.

“So you’re Miss… Root?” Shaw said.

“Ah, hello,” Root said. She looked up, something odd in her expression. “You don’t have to call me that. It’s just Root.”

Shaw stiffened. Damn it. Shaw glanced briefly across to Gen; ok, definitely no revealing that they were soulmates with her in the room. Shaw didn’t want to think about what Gen would do with that knowledge.

By the look of it, Root was thinking the same. Well, that delayed the awkward part of the conversation, at least.

“So, why am I here?” Shaw said.

Root blinked, and cleared her throat, shaking off the momentary distraction of hearing her tattoo spoken.

“Sameen,” Root said, glancing at a piece of paper, “There was an incident in class today-”

“Lose the euphemisms,” Shaw said. “What happened?”

“Genrika slapped another student,” Root said.

There was a pause. Shaw sighed, closing her eyes in exasperation. She nodded briefly to Root, before turning, slowly, to Gen.

Gen was still sitting where she was, looking down at the table, evidently waiting for this to be over.

“Gen,” Shaw said. A pause. “Look at me.”

Eventually, Gen looked up.

“What did I tell you about this?” Shaw said.

“Don’t slap people,” Gen said, mutely.

“And?”

“Use a closed fist,” Gen said, repeating as if by rote.

“And?”

“Thumb on the outside,” Gen said.

“Good,” Shaw said. She smiled. “You’ll never do any damage with a slap. When you’re older, I’ll teach you about palm strikes, ok?”

“Yes mom,” Gen said. She brightened, slightly.

Pleased, Shaw looked away from her adopted daughter, focusing back on Root.

“Is that it?” Shaw said.

“I…” Root said. She hesitated, a little taken aback. “School policy doesn’t allow for violence in-”

“Bullshit,” Shaw said. Root glanced at Gen; Shaw snorted. “Relax, she’s heard worse. I know Gen, if she hit someone, they probably had it coming.”

“There was some harassment,” Root said. “But hitting someone isn’t a skill we like to encourage-”

“That’s a problem with your curriculum then,” Shaw said. “You telling me you agree with all the rules?”

Don’t say her soulmate would balk at hitting a pain in the ass.

Shaw was gratified to see Root hesitated. Eventually, Root relaxed, smiling across in a slightly less stiff fashion.

“I work here,” Root said. “It’s my job to enforce the rules. Besides, not every problem can be solved by hitting things.”

“Can if you find the right person,” Shaw said.

“We try to teach problem solving in a less competitive fashion,” Root said. She shrugged. “What you teach her at home’s your business, just keep it out of the school.”

“Then keep the rest of your kids from deserving it,” Shaw said.

Root paused. She had seemed somewhat reluctant to have this conversation, anyway. As she regarded Shaw, her eyes drifted down, to where Shaw’s tattoo would be if it weren’t covered up.

Slowly, Root exhaled.

“Good talk,” Root said, eventually. “I’ll mark it down as a success. Can we talk alone for a moment?”

And Shaw could just guess what that talk would be about. For a moment she was tempted to refuse. Then again, parent-teacher night was coming up soon enough and there wasn’t really anyone that could go in Shaw’s place.

Shaw groaned.

“Ok,” Shaw said. She turned. “Gen, could you go wait in the car? I’ll be out in five minutes.”

“Ten,” Root said.

Shaw raised her eyebrows, before catching sight of the expression on Root’s face. Ok, that was one way to work out post-argument frustrations.

“Ten minutes,” Shaw said. “Read your book.”

“Ok,” Gen said. She nodded, looked between her mother and teacher for a moment, before going out the door.

It was closer to fifteen minutes when a slightly breathless Shaw arrived at the car.


	152. One of Them 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested sequel!

Root was moaning rather loudly, just about audible over the continuous complaints and angry shouts of her family. Shaw meanwhile, was lying a few feet away, relaxing.

“You know that’s annoying, don’t you?” Shaw said.

Root gave one last, loud scream, before turning to face Shaw.

“To them too,” Root said, conversationally. “You said you liked tormenting them.”

“There’s tormenting them, and there’s tormenting me,” Shaw said. “I’d rather have a few minutes of peace and just leave them wondering what’s going on.”

“Fine,” Root pouted. “You just usually want to do more when you come over.”

“Just wanted to get somewhere more private,” Shaw said.

Climbing the balcony was a little tiring, anyway. She was getting used to it, but she could still do with a little break to rest her arms.

To be honest, she liked this room anyway. When she had the chance, she visited. It had a good couple of advantages; aside from pissing people off, it was nice enough. Comfy furniture, decent décor…

She shifted, glancing across to Root. Ok, the company wasn’t so bad either.

Shaw moved closer, until she was lying beside Root. It was easier to be closer now Root wasn’t deafening.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Root said. “Anything special in mind?”

“Just another date,” Shaw said. “Probably by the pier, it’s always crowded there.”

“Aww, by the sea?” Root said. “That’s always romantic. Stay out for the sunset?”

“No point in being out when it’s dark,” Shaw said.

“Would be nice though,” Root said. “Don’t you think sweetie? People watching us lie side-by-side by the sea. Would look like a nice couple then.”

“We look like a nice couple doing most things,” Shaw said. “Including barricading the door to your room while you fake it.”

“Rather not fake it.”

“Give me a few minutes,” Shaw said, wearily.

Well, there was no harm in a few extra shows. It’d just incense them all the more.

“I haven’t snuck into your home yet, you know,” Root said. “Wouldn’t mind seeing your room.”

“You think you could?”

“You’ve managed the getting-in just fine,” Root said. “You don’t think I could?”

“Honestly? No.”

Root looked affronted. Shaw snorted to herself before, barely thinking about it, leaning over to kiss her.

It lasted a few seconds more before, eventually, Shaw pulled back. Root was smirking at her in a way that made Shaw certain she was going to regret it.

“Thought you wanted to save it for public?” Root said, playfully.

Shaw coughed.

“Someone could’ve been watching,” Shaw said.

Root raised her eyebrows.

“Cracks around the door, keyhole, window…” Shaw said.

“Sure they are.”

“ _Root_.”

“I believe you,” Root said, rather insincerely.


	153. Don't Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request!

Shaw was just walking along. That was meant to be it, at least. There was a fallen bin a little way down the path, but that was hardly major. Just a couple of steps around and…

It was meant to be a boring day. Nothing special. And then-

“Don’t trip!”

Shaw stiffened, immediately turning to see who yelled that. She was less concerned with the meaning of the words, and more the fact that damn it that was her soulmate.

She glimpsed a slightly worried looking woman a couple of steps behind her and to her side-

And then something hit Shaw’s shins, and the ground was approaching awfully quickly.

Shaw groaned.

The woman hurried close. Shaw glimpsed an offered hand; Shaw ignored it, pulling herself over the obstacle, and standing up unaided. She dusted herself down.

“Did warn you,” the woman said.

“And I’m blaming you,” Shaw said.

The woman’s eyes widened; Shaw started walking again. She didn’t limp that much.

Apparently running away from your soulmate wasn’t that easy though. Once she’d gotten over her shock, the woman was walking quickly, and keeping by Shaw’s side.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t look where you were going,” the woman said.

“I _was_ ,” Shaw said. “I was going to walk around it, until you distracted me.”

“Sure.”

“What would you do if your- if someone yelled at you?” Shaw said. “You made me look around. So, blaming you.”

Shaw didn’t turn, continuing her slightly punishing pace on. The woman somehow kept up.

“I’m Root,” the woman said suddenly.

“Shaw,” she replied. “Ex-army. Coordinated. I don’t trip.”

“You did.”

“Because of _you_.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, and sped up just slightly. Root was a little breathless now, but she was still staying by Shaw’s side. Damn it.

“Don’t trip,” Shaw said.

Root glanced down at the bare ground, and frowned.

“What?” she said, baffled.

Shaw stuck her leg out and stopped. Root went sprawling rather impressively; Shaw took a few seconds to watch, before walking on.

When Root realized she wasn’t going to get any help up, she quickly stood, and ran back to Shaw’s side. Her mood seemed only slightly dampened.

“That was petty,” Root said.

“Now we’re even,” Shaw said.

“Still can’t admit you tripped?”

“Don’t make me do that again.”


	154. Fifty-Fifty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested line fic, though it's one of those where I couldn't quite make it the tattooed line. Still.   
> Enjoy!

Root picked up two bottles of water from the nearest corner shop. Going for a well-known brand usually helped with things like this.

She’d been hired for a small job; there was a businessman who was digging around the wrong company records, and his higher-ups wanted him dealt with.

Root had done a little spying. He always had a bottle of water with his lunch; something plain.

Idly she lit a candle, though the room was bright.

Root used a small pin on one of the bottles she’d bought. She couldn’t unscrew it without making it obvious the bottle had been opened, so instead she carefully pierced a spot just under the cap. The plastic was creased and rough enough as it was; there wasn’t any easy way to see the damage.

Then she slid a syringe through the gap, and injected poison into the water. Keeping her thumb over the hole, she shook the water, until it was all mixed in.

It still looked perfectly clear.

Carefully, then, she used the tip of the pin to take a little melted wax from the candle, and touched it to the hole she’d pierced. Give it a little time to dry, and no water could escape the bottle; and given the location of the imperfection, just above a ridge and under the plastic cap, there was no way to see any damage.

The other bottle she’d bought for herself. Assassinations could be thirsty work.

Root went to sleep, weary. She set her alarm for tomorrow.

When she awoke, she dressed up like an office worker, and picked up a fake pass that had been given to her by the higher-ups who’d hired her for this job.

Root only knew one name; Sameen Shaw. That was the person Root was meant to report to once she’d done. With the pass to get into the office building, it would be simple enough.

Putting the two bottles of water into her bag, Root left for work.

She’d been given the cover of a temp. She’d been in on-and-off over the last couple of days, to avoid raising suspicion. No one seemed to have noticed how little work was really assigned to her.

Once Root glimpsed her target leaving his cubicle, Root walked up, peering inside his workspace. Empty now.

Quickly, she found the drink he’d bought, and switched the bottle with one of her own. Indistinguishable. Smiling to herself, she hurried out of the room, and walked casually back to her own office.

She sat there for a few hours more. She just had to wait for lunch, confirm he’d drunk from the bottle, and report in. Then she could get paid, and get out. Nice and easy.

Idly, she drank from the bottle she’d brought with her. It was a few seconds before she moved her lips back from it, and stared.

Ok, maybe she should have thought less about the intricacies of sneaking in poison, and more about marking which bottle she _hadn’t_ poisoned. Carefully, Root put the bottle down.

It wasn’t fast-acting. If that was the wrong bottle, she wouldn’t know for a while. Great.

Root got to her feet, slightly perturbed. She wandered down the aisle, thankfully glimpsing her target taking an early sip from his drink.

Well, that did make it easier. Root found the elevator, ascending a floor, before finding the office of Sameen Shaw. She knocked; Shaw looked up, and gestured for her to come in. Root shut the door behind her.

“Is it done?” Shaw said.

Root stiffened. Well, there was that cliché, after all; you couldn’t die until you met your soulmate. Hopefully that wasn’t foreshadowing.

And now, to top it off, she didn’t just have to explain her potential, tremendous error to a stranger, but to her soulmate. Typical.

“It’s fifty-fifty,” Root said. She offered a playful smirk.

Unimpressed, Shaw raised her eyebrows.

“Of all the times I imagined hearing that, this is not a good one,” Shaw said. “Is he dead or isn’t he?”

“Possibly.”

“Possibly?” Shaw said. “I imagine it’s not easy to mistake the two. Is he breathing?”

“For now,” Root said. “I poisoned a water bottle, and put it in his office. Saw him drinking before I came up here.”

“So he _is_ dead, or as good as,” Shaw said.

“Fifty-fifty,” Root said.

Shaw glared.

“I might’ve bought a second bottle, for myself,” Root said. “There’s a _chance_ I might’ve confused the two.”

A pause.

“You poisoned yourself,” Shaw said, flatly.

“Possibly,” Root said.

“I thought we were hiring a professional?”

“You did,” Root said. “No fun without a little risk though, is it?”

“You and I have very different definitions of fun.”

“You don’t have to pay me if I die,” Root said. “How’s that?”

Shaw glared, still.

“And if I live,” Root said, “Date?”

“What?”

“You, me,” Root said. “Date. Hopefully without quite so much poison.”

“I don’t date people who nearly kill themselves,” Shaw said.

“It’s not ‘nearly,’” Root said. “It’s either I did kill myself, or I didn’t come close. 100% or 0%, nothing in between.”

“Not helping your case.”

Thankfully that was the point a slight ruckus started outside. Shaw paused, glancing to her email folder. Evidently something had happened downstairs; something that merited an email alert and panic.

“You survived your own incompetence,” Shaw said, flat. “Congratulations.”

Root beamed, hiding any relief she felt.

“So, how about that date?” 


	155. Not Scared 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to WW2 for another requested sequel.

Shaw drew her knees back against her chest, shivering. The bombs seemed to have stopped falling nearby, at least for now, but no one wanted to go outside.

They’d be spending the night here. The chill air of the tunnel was always worse at night. Shaw moved closer to the wall, pulling her blanket a little tighter around herself.

It was strange how a chamber could be both cavernous and cramped. The underground station was large enough to take a train, the tunnels expanding into seemingly endless darkness in each direction, but the sheer amount of people sheltering in it removed most of the free space.

“Not that I’m not enjoying you vibrating, but are you cold?” Root said.

She was lying just in front of Shaw. Shaw would admit to not normally being a cuddler, but when they had to be in close quarters, and when it was this cold, body heat wasn’t something she’d refuse.

“Aren’t you?” Shaw said.

“You’re all toasty,” Root said. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not as warm as a normal person,” Shaw said.

Well, it was true. Root did seem to have very cold hands, and while she was marginally warmer than the room, it wasn’t by all that much.

Root sat up suddenly, ignoring how a few people groaned. She shifted, and removed her own blanket, before gently laying it on top of Shaw.

“Better?” Root said.

“A little,” Shaw said. She paused. “And what will you do?”

“Didn’t know you cared,” Root said.

Shaw raised her eyebrows. Root hesitated.

“Good point,” Root said. “Ok, move over.”

“What?”

“You heard,” Root said.

And then Root was nearly kicking Shaw’s head, trying to fit in under the blankets. Shaw moved back, grumbling slightly, and lifting one arm. She shivered as the movement let cold air, but also let Root slide in.

Then Shaw was back to pulling the blankets tighter, giving them each an extra layer, as well as more direct contact.

“Better?” Root said.

“Yeah,” Shaw said, then. She paused. “You’d better not snore.”

“You too,” Root said.

They huddled nearer, both of them falling silent soon after that. There wasn’t much more talking, at this hour. One person was reading a newspaper, but almost everyone else was lying down, and trying to sleep.

Shaw closed her eyes, doing her best to ignore the significance of the woman she rested against.

It was nicer to not have to worry about the cold, at least. There was just the smell of cigarettes, and emptiness.

Beyond that, there wasn’t quite silence. Some people were murmuring, some pages were being turned, but above all Shaw found she was hyperaware of Root’s breathing.

And then another bomb fell. Root stiffened, slightly, against her. Shaw smiled, content in the fact Root couldn’t see it, and waited it out.


	156. Noise Complaints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request time! Probably had a bit too much fun with this one.

They didn’t have too many get-togethers. Not all at once, at least. Grace’s bachelorette was one of the few excuses they’d all had to meet up.

Grace had known Carter, and Carter had met Shaw after an incident of what was technically a case of assault, but they’d stayed in contact after Shaw had gotten out post-technicality. It was through Carter that Shaw had met Grace.

Then there was Zoe, who’d met Grace through one of Grace’s husbands-to-be.

It wasn’t the biggest party, just the four of them, but it had taken enough to get Grace to agree to having any kind of bachelorette. Keeping it small scale was no great loss.

“So, marrying two guys?” Zoe was saying. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“It’s not like _that_ ,” Grace said.

Shaw snorted. Zoe did seem to see how far she could push people; she always seemed to know how to stop before it got too far.

A knock at the door interrupted that conversation. Carter turned the music down slightly, before answering the door.

A policewoman was standing there, with long dark hair, and a mildly amused expression. She was all-business when she spoke, though.

“We’ve had a few reports of noise complaints,” she said. “Neighbours-”

Zoe craned her neck to get a better view of the doorway, before sighing.

“I _knew_ I shouldn’t have let Shaw pick the stripper,” Zoe said. “Sam, you know everyone else here is straight, right?”

“I’m not a-” the woman in the doorway tried to say.

Carter, meanwhile, seemed slightly distracted. She stepped back, gesturing.

“Come on in,” she said.

“Just don’t expect me to dance,” the policewoman said. “The neighbours were saying-”

“I didn’t want a-” Grace said.

“And I’d have preferred a guy,” Zoe said. “We take what we’re given. Did you bring your music?”

The policewoman was a couple of steps in the door, by then. She was looking around, rather taken aback.

She looked from a slightly awkward-looking Grace, to a Shaw who looked like she was trying to be unnoticed, to a mildly drunk Zoe, to a Carter who was keeping out of the way and trying not to laugh.

“I’m not-” the woman tried to say, again.

“Root?” Zoe said, reading the badge on Root’s uniform. “Not a very sexy stripper name. Sounds like something you’d get at the dentist’s, not normally what I like to think of when… Wait, please tell me you work with a girl called Candy, I could see it working then-”

Root blinked.

“Shaw?” Carter said, still by the back of the room. “Not saying anything?”

Shaw turned, to glare across at Carter.

After the arrest, Carter had been one of the few people to see Shaw’s tattoo. It had been one of the ‘recognizable features’ that had been noted down at the station.

After being freed, Shaw had tried to swear Carter to secrecy. She didn’t want anyone else trying to set her up with a soulmate.

Damn it.

“Yeah,” Zoe said, turning, “Why didn’t you book a-”

“She’s not who I booked,” Shaw said, flatly.

Root jumped on the spot. Both Zoe and Grace looked from her, to Shaw, and back to Root again; meanwhile Shaw gulped down a drink.

Shaw trying to vanish into her chair since Root had announced herself, Root being shocked when Shaw spoke… evidently it didn’t take long for the two of them to put it together.

“Wait, really?” Grace said.

“Your soulmate’s a stripper?” Zoe said.

“I’m _not_ a str-”

Shaw shrugged. “Could be worse,” she said.

Carter slowly moved back to her chair. She was still trying not to laugh; Root shot a pleading look across to her. Carter lifted her hands, the universal gesture for not getting involved.

“So, who are you dancing for?” Zoe said. “Grace is the bride-to-be, but Shaw’s probably the one who’ll appreciate it the most.”

“Shaw can have the dance,” Grace said, slightly faint.

“Fine,” Shaw said.

“I’m not a stripper!” Root said, succeeding in getting it out that time. “There was a noise complaint. That’s all.”

Carter was still laughing. She’d recognized Root the moment she saw her.

“Oh,” Zoe said, only slightly disappointed. “Still sticking around? Shaw won’t mind.”

“Yes I will,” Shaw said.

Still, Root moved to sit down. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“So, where’s the actual stripper?” Zoe said, eventually.


	157. Wanna Be My Soulmate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request!

Shaw didn’t like queuing at the best of times. And now, apparently, some idiot was coming back along the queue to talk to everyone.

Shaw did her best to ignore her. The woman was stopping at each person in the queue, talking quietly for a few seconds, before shrugging and moving on.

Shaw didn’t like dealing with strangers.

As the people ahead moved on, Shaw walked slowly. She shifted slightly, trying to get a bit further from the side that the woman was coming down.

Eventually, the woman got closer. She leaned over, said something brief and indistinct to the person in front of Shaw. Whatever she was saying, she evidently didn’t get the reaction she wanted, and moved on.

Shaw looked away as the woman came to her. Someone tugged at her arm, and Shaw ignored them. After a few seconds, they nudged again.

Great, they weren’t going away.

Annoyed, Shaw turned to face the woman-

“Hey, wanna be my soulmate?” the woman said.

Shaw’s complaint died on her lips. Great. Well then, she couldn’t talk to the woman. Shaw shook her head, mute.

The woman tilted her head. She started to smile.

“I’m Root,” she said. “Not going to tell me to go away?”

Shaw made a shooing gesture.

The queue moved on. Shaw took a few steps forwards, groaning as Root kept moving alongside her.

“Just tell me to leave and I might,” Root said. “Unless there’s some reason you don’t want me to talk.”

Shaw sighed.

“So, about me,” Root said. “I like computers, sci-fi, shooting things, and Italian. Figured out Santa soon enough, but I was viciously disappointed when I found out Star Trek wasn’t a documentary. I built a-”

“I’m going to hope we’re not soulmates,” Shaw said, “Because if this is your tattoo, why exactly did you look for me?”

Root grinned. Shaw sighed; apparently her hope wasn’t quite justified.

“Just wanted to see who you were,” Root said. “Besides, can’t fight destiny, can you?”

“Just watch me.”

“Not interested?”

“No.”

“Enthralled?”

“Go away.”

“Oh,” Root pouted. After a moment, she brightened. “If you give me your number.”

“What?”

“I’ll go away if I can talk to you later,” Root said.

Shaw paused.

“You know, there’s a school of thought that says if soulmates don’t get along, the world ends,” Root said. “Wouldn’t want to end the world, would you?”

“Might do, sometimes,” Shaw said. Eventually though, she sighed, grabbed Root’s hand rather roughly, and scribbled something on it. “Happy now?”

“Very, sweetie.”


	158. [blank] 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sequel!

Shaw liked snack runs. She could never keep too much food around her apartment, she always ended up absentmindedly eating it. Instead, she had a snack shop not too far away.

That way, when she got the munchies, at least she’d have to put in a little effort to get food. It was meant to help keep things under control.

At least Root wasn’t texting her quite as much. Apparently Root was on a working holiday; she didn’t have too much time to pester Shaw.

There was still the occasional text. Shaw had seen sent a photo of Root on the plane early in the morning. In general, though, Root was quieter. Despite herself, Shaw missed the banter.

And then she bumped into someone.

It lasted little more than a second; it was one of those encounters that people had multiple times a day, just passing by someone on a street. Unfortunately, it was a someone that Shaw recognized.

Root had sent photos of herself plenty of times, just as Shaw had. Just because they’d never met didn’t mean they didn’t like to know what the other looked like.

Shaw stopped in her tracks. It took Root a second or so before she recognized Shaw, and then her eyes widened suddenly. Shaw stared at her-

A million thoughts rushed through her head.

If she wanted to, she could end all this soulmate talk just by saying ‘hi.’ The moment they exchanged words, and they had first words, they wouldn’t be soulmates. Shaw did like that idea.

And there was the appeal of sheer bloody-mindedness. All of Root’s fantasizing for nothing.

But then, part of her wondered why Root stayed in contact with her. Maybe she’d lose interest, when Shaw just turned into a generic stranger; and maybe Shaw would miss her. It had been kinda fun when Root was, well, Root.

All things considered, there were worse soulmates. Not that Root was her soulmate.

If Root wanted to believe it though, Shaw would do her that favour. Shaw inhaled, then turned, and hurriedly walked on. She nearly tripped over her feet, stopping only at the end of the street.

She turned around, to look back, only to see that Root had vanished into the crowd. Shaw breathed out one, long sigh of relief.

Her phone buzzed. Of course.

_Saw you sweetie._

That was the possibility Shaw had forgotten to consider; how smug Root would be afterwards.

_Guess you wanted to be soulmates after all ;)_

And a winky-face. Of course Root would go for the winky-face. Shaw slumped against the wall, shaking her head in reluctant amusement.

After a moment, she typed a reply. _Just didn’t want to put up with your whining when it turned out you were wrong_.

Unsurprisingly, Root responded quickly.

 _Just keep telling yourself that_.

Shaw groaned, before straightening. She nearly put her phone away, before it buzzed again.

_Just think about it. How many people get to pretty much choose their soulmates? Guess that makes us special._

_Kinda glad I got to choose you_.

And now Root was getting sappy. It was a moment before Shaw replied with a _you seem to enjoy making me regret it._

Another buzz. Shaw nearly dreaded reading it.

_Of course I do, sweetie. You’re so much fun._


	159. Hello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a request for a canon-based encounter.

Shaw had never really forgotten the iron incident. It wasn’t every day you heard your tattoo spoken, just like it wasn’t every day said potential soulmate threatened you with a hot iron.

The woman who’d called herself Veronica Sinclair didn’t give any reaction to Shaw’s words, though, so Shaw ignored it. She hadn’t reacted herself anyway; a soulmate was one complication she could do without.

And besides, by the time she started spending actual time with Root, so much more had happened.

Samaritan, fleeing to the subway; and, latest of all, Root had gotten shot. It was hardly new, but this time Root as being a baby about it.

“Take off your shirt,” Shaw said, brusquely.

“Usually like a bit more romancing first,” Root said.

“Liar.”

“Impatient to play doctor, aren’t you?”

“Root, stop it with the games, you’ve got a bullet worryingly close to your lung by the look of it.”

Root hesitated. Shaw sighed. She’d put it down to shyness; ok, she and Root had played around once or twice or twenty times, and Root always found an excuse to keep her top on.

Body issues only went so far. In Shaw’s mind, bullets generally trumped most things. It was the first time Root had gotten one in such a dangerous area too, at least when Shaw was treating her.

Mildly annoyed, Shaw reached out, tugging at the bottom hem of Root’s top. Root might’ve tried to react, but the wound slowed her. Shad had pulled the top about as far as Root’s neck, before she faltered.

 _Hello Veronica_. All nice and neat, in black ink.

Shaw had been there for most of Root’s cover identities, and for that matter she’d seen the list of Root’s known aliases since before they’d met. Veronica was hardly a common name, and it only popped up once on the list. Veronica Sinclair.

Root lifted her arms, resignedly pulling her shirt off. There wasn’t any point in hiding it now.

Root hadn’t posed as Veronica Sinclair for long; just long enough to meet Shaw, in an attempt to find out what she knew. Most people would’ve known what Veronica looked like, so the number of people that’d address her as Veronica were limited.

Shaw knew she was on that list. It was years ago, but Shaw was fairly sure that was what she’d said to Root; just like she was sure Root had said her own tattoo in response.

“You’re the one who wanted it off,” Root said. “Weren’t you worried about a bullet?”

“Kinda tempted to let it do its work,” Shaw said. She paused. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Neither did you.”

“Because I watched you, when we met,” Shaw said. “You didn’t respond, I figured it was a false positive.”

“So did I,” Root said. “Well, until the safehouse. You remember that, right? Zip t-”

“I _remember_.”

“As soon as I saw yours, I thought you were just going to deny it, after how you didn’t react to begin with,” Root said. “And didn’t want to delay the fun, so…”

Shaw hesitated. Some part of her mind was slowly registering the fact that the woman she’d been working beside for the better part of the last couple of years was apparently also her soulmate.

“Ok, big revelation, I get it,” Root said. “Still got a bullet in me here.”

“Just thinking about it,” Shaw said.

“Helping me?!”

“Being soulmates,” Shaw said. She paused. “Never really wanted one.”

“I know,” Root said, and tapped her ear. “She told me. So, how do I measure up?”

“Occasionally more bearable,” Shaw said. “Occasionally not.”

“High praise, from you, sweetie,” Root said. She beamed, before frowning. “Now, bullet? Pretty please?”

Shaw paused, taking another look at the tattoo. Then, sighing, she went to work.


	160. Are You Going to Finish That?

Shaw spent most of the morning looking forward to lunch. After heading off to work, it was good to know that there’d be a break for something objectively more enjoyable.

There was a small place for snacks just around the corner. She spent most lunch breaks there.

Shaw ordered a nicely stuffed baguette, bringing it back to a table. She sat near the edge of the café, where it was quieter, and closed her eyes to savour her first, big bite.

About halfway through, she put down the baguette, and gulped some of her coffee. As much as she liked eating, she didn’t like to rush it. Even beyond wanting to savour the meal, it helped to wet her throat.

Pausing, she spent a few seconds just breathing.

“Are you going to finish that?”

The voice came from behind Shaw. Two thoughts immediately went through her mind; the first was that apparently she couldn’t escape her soulmate after all. The second was a much more blunt ‘screw them.’

Without turning around, Shaw picked up what was left of her baguette, nearly dislocated her jaw, and forced all of it into her mouth. Only when it was consumed, did Shaw turn around glaring at her apparent soulmate.

Mildly taken aback, the woman behind her just raised her eyebrows. Shaw’s gaze just dared her to look away, and Shaw carefully chewed and swallowed at the best pace she could manage.

Ok, her jaw did start to ache, but it was the principle of the thing. Shaw hated people stealing her food.

“Ok?” the woman said, eventually.

Shaw continued chewing aggressively, before gulping what she could down.

She was rather proud of the gesture, until a bit of bread lodged in her throat, and she started choking.

Immediately the woman had leaned over, patting her rather violently on the back. Shaw scowled, coughing until her throat was clear.

“That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, I’ll be honest,” the woman said.

Shaw took a few more seconds, catching her breath. Eventually, she groaned.

“Screw you,” Shaw said.

The woman paused, and stared. Her mental journey was visible in her eyes; amusement from seeing a stranger choking, to realizing said stranger was her soulmate.

“That an offer?” the woman said.

Shaw rolled her eyes. Hadn’t taken her long to get used to the idea.

“You’re very possessive over food,” the woman said after a few seconds. There was another pause. “I’m Root.”

“Shaw,” she said.

“Did finish it, huh?”

“I don’t share,” Shaw said.

“So I see,” Root said.

She paused for a few seconds.

“Can I buy you dinner?” Root said.

“What?”

“A date,” Root said. “For me, at least. Free food for you. Looks as though that’s something you’d like.”

Root gestured to the few crumbs remaining. Shaw hesitated.

“Well?” Root said.

“Maybe,” Shaw said.


	161. What Happened to Your Hair?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another requested-line fic.

There was a certain art form to making a bomb, Root reflected. It needed to be easy to trigger, but not too easy. Too stable and there was barely a boom, too unstable and you couldn’t get it anywhere.

It took practise; plus every mix had its own quirks. There were a couple that started spewing out poisonous gas midway through making them, which was far from encouraging.

And then, after everything, there came the question of what type of bomb it was meant to be. Some people were traditionalists, and wanted a fuse; others wanted an electronic timer fitted.

Root could make anything; she prided herself on that. She had enough practise that her finished product was typically good, as well as being untraceable thanks to being made rather than stolen.

Technically she might not be up to the standard that professional factories produced, but an explosion was an explosion. So long as it was reliable, then yield wasn’t the biggest concern.

Her latest batch was PE-7; more or less C-4, following the british recipe instead. Varying recipes was always a good way to confuse law enforcement.

Plenty of people came to buy from her. There were plenty of uses for bombs, for the right kind of groups and people.

Every now and again an envoy would be sent to pick something up from her, or to arrange a purchase. She had a fair client base, though very few she trusted long enough to be recurring customers.

There was a knock on her door. Root hit a button to open it; she’d jury-rigged automation throughout her house and improvised factory. It made things easier. The only visitors she had were clients, anyway.

Meanwhile, she was busy fixing a timer to a fairly small blob of plastic explosive.

“Hey, Root right? I need to order fifteen grams of Semtex, by-”

Root had time for a couple of thoughts. The first was that her soulmate had good taste in explosives, which was not unattractive. The second that she’d stiffened when she’d heard her soulmate’s words, and that her thumb slipped.

There was a beep. Root glanced down.

And without taking the time to speak, she was on her feet, throwing the bomb to one end of her work room while running right at the newcomer, darting past them.

Ok, she was using her soulmate as a human shield. Call it instinct.

The woman guessed what was happening as soon as Root darted by her, turning around and moving to slam the door.

Root had dealt with similar instances when cooking up less stable bombs, so the room was reinforced to deal with instances like that. She’d only lost a little work.

There was a muffled boom, and the shockwave rattled the door open slightly. The woman stumbled forwards from it, caught in a slight rush of heated air that snuck through the crack.

Carefully, Root stood up. She smiled slightly sheepishly, glancing at the tiny flicker of flame that had started at the ends of the woman’s hair.

“Not thinking much of your professionalism,” the woman said.

She lifted a hand, pinching out the small fire before it spread very far, and brushing off some of the ash. She scowled.

“What happened to your hair?” Root said, innocently.

The woman’s expression swiftly became unreadable. At a glare, Root hurried on.

“You distracted me,” Root said. “Do you blame me? Worst possible timing, all around.”

“So you normally don’t bomb your buyers?” the woman said.

“Not unless they’re really annoying,” Root said. She tilted her head; “So, who are you? Can’t have met before.”

“Shaw,” she said. “Independent contractor, in need of fifteen-”

“I heard,” Root said. “Meant more personally.”

“You do realize you just nearly killed me?”

“You’re still here,” Root said. She shrugged.

Shaw paused for a few seconds. Eventually, she snorted.

“My soulmate blows things up,” she said. “I can live with that.”


	162. Where Are You 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested sequel!

Shaw walked out to centre stage, after finishing her latest number, taking a few moments to just listen to the cheers. She put the microphone back in the stand, walking back to take a quick gulp of water, before returning to the microphone.

“So, someone special asked me to dedicate a song to them,” Shaw said.

She paused for a moment, a scowly smile at the cheers that went through the crowd at that.

“This one’s for her,” Shaw said.

The band started up, while Shaw rested, facing the stage and one hand on the microphone. She stood perfectly still over the opening chords.

Root sat up straighter, grinning from her seat in the audience. Shaw had promised one song dedicated to her, and Root was impressed enough that Shaw had agreed.

Plus, who didn’t want their favourite singer to sing them something?

Sure, she knew Shaw, it wasn’t exactly going to be a romantic ballad, but Root still looked forward to it.

“ _I like the way you move, I_ _like the way you feel…_ ”

Root hesitated, raising her eyebrows slightly. Ok, that was going better than she’d expected.

“ _But don’t kid yourself, this love ain’t for real_ …”

Of course. Root chuckled to herself. She’d expected some form of denial in the song.

Then again, she’d heard a few of the tunes Shaw had been humming around backstage. All things considered, this was probably getting off lucky.

At a particularly explicit lyric, Root cheered along with the rest of the audience.

“ _When you’re out of my sight, you’re out of my mind…_ ”

Root waved at that. Being a guest of the lead singer ensured a good view, and if she could see Shaw clearly, Shaw could definitely see her.

Shaw scowled slightly at how much Root was grinning.

“ _It’s just lust_ …”

It was the excuse Root was used to hearing, anyway. Their relationship was hardly lacking in that department, Shaw just insisted it didn’t extend much past that.

Even so, Root had a song dedicated to her. In her mind, that was pretty romantic, especially given Shaw’s standard for romantic gestures.

Getting anything other than five minutes of sung insults was a victory in Root’s book.

Another cheer went through the crowd at another explicit line, and Root tried to be loudest of all, definitely getting Shaw’s attention. She winked; Shaw barely hesitated.

And the song ended on a crescendo, before the lights went out, the band playing a few more notes to finish off the song, leading into the interval.

The audience still cheered, before slowly falling quiet. Root meanwhile hurried to her feet, slipping out through the aisle, and making her way back stage. This time she had a pass.

Shaw was in her dressing room, changing and gulping down water. She spared a brief nod for Root in the chaos.

“Thanks sweetie,” Root said, beaming.

Shaw rolled her eyes. She sat herself down, once she was changed, relaxing.

“You know that’s all you’re getting, right?” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said. She still smiled; “Still romantic, coming from you.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows, before snorting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, credit for song lyrics is due to Joan Jett, because at this stage that's basically how i'm imagining Shaw. Just went through songs she'd sang, removed the ones whose lyrics I refused to write out, and here we are.


	163. Nice Shooting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun request time!   
> Quick note; Root's called Samantha in this story because it's set before she becomes Root, in this universe at least.

“Do you think we should tell her?” Mr Groves said. “She’s old enough.”

“I know,” Mrs Groves said, “But even so… I don’t think it’s something she needs to know.”

“And it’s… questionable,” Mr Groves said, hesitating.

They’d put off the discussion for as long as they could. Their daughter was about seventeen, and probably intelligent enough to know they were keeping something from her, she just hadn’t asked.

The Groves still remembered when their daughter was born; the doctor had been rather uncertain of what to say.

By the sound of it, it was a type of talk they did have a fair bit, it was just one that was hard to get used to. In cases where a baby was born with language tattooed on their chest that might be unsuitable for a child’s eyes, the parents were given the option of having it removed.

They were given a photo and record of the original words, to give to Samantha when she grew old enough that they thought it was suitable.

Then again, _take that_ follows by a truly impressive string of profanities did raised certain questions about the kind of person their daughter’s soulmate was going to be.

“If they’re going to meet, they’re going to meet,” Mrs Groves said. “I have to hope she’ll end up with someone less… coarse, though.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Mr Groves said.

And that was it, as far as they were concerned. Maybe their daughter would meet her soulmate, maybe she wouldn’t, but regardless it’d be better if Samantha didn’t think it was worth pursuing someone with such… colourful language.

Not forgetting the implied violent streak. There were only so many things _take that_ could mean.

They didn’t talk about it too much more, after having that discussion. There was no more need to; it was awkward enough as it was.

They hadn’t even thought about it for a few days, when they were out on a family shopping trip. Their daughter went with them.

There had been rumours of criminal activity in their neighbourhood, but there always were rumours. There usually wasn’t any need to pay it any mind.

That was what they thought, at least, before the gunshots rang out.

Immediately the three of them hurried for cover, ducking into the entrance area of a closed-down building and keeping out of the direct line of fire. There were a few more shots.

And then “Take that-” rang out loud and clear, a woman’s voice, emphasized with shot after shot.

Even having read the profanity that followed that statement multiple times, Mr Groves’ eyebrows shot up when he heard it. His eyes met his wife’s.

Samantha, meanwhile, peered out. There was a glimpse of a lone woman backing away down the street, hurrying from car to car, and taking cover behind each of them. Every few seconds she stood to shoot back down the street, covering herself.

Whatever size group had begun pursuing her, there were three when she came into view, and one by the time the woman was level with the Groves. The woman crouched, reloaded her gun, before standing again and-

The last assailant fell, and the woman stood up, more confidently. Samantha stared, thoroughly captivated.

“Should we say something?” Mr Groves whispered.

“I don’t know if…” Mrs Groves began.

And before she could finish her sentence, their daughter hurried out of their slight shelter, all the way over to the gun-wielding woman. A distant echo of ‘nice shooting’ reached them.

Her parents stared.

“What is she…” Mr Groves said, uncertain.

“I think Sam’s hitting on her,” Mrs Groves said, faltering.

Another few seconds passed. The armed woman seemed slightly taken aback.

“Should she be so… enthusiastic?” Mrs Groves said.

“I don’t think she should be talking to someone like _that_ at all,” Mr Groves said. “She just shot at least three people, that’s…”

“Our daughter looks safe, at least,” Mrs Groves said. Her tone was questioning.

“Still! And- wait, what’s she doing?”

“What?” Mrs Groves said.

“There! She’s- I think Sam just got her number.”

Mrs Groves hesitated, not completely sure if that was good news. Sure, meeting her soulmate might technically be a good thing, but someone like _that_.

Bouncing slightly, Samantha wandered back over to them.

“Were you talking about telling me something?” she said, ignoring their shocked expressions.

It took her parents a few seconds to remember that they’d been debating whether or not to point out that Root had just heard her soulmate’s first words.

A soulmate who was, now, wandering back up the street to look at the bodies of the people she’d killed.

“Never mind,” Mr Groves said faintly.


	164. Watch It Princess 3

Shaw was pretty sure the universe had it in for her. That was the only explanation she could think of. She’d walked out on Root a while ago, after an admittedly good night, and somehow she’d bumped into Root again.

“Please tell me you’re not following me,” Shaw said.

“Just a happy coincidence,” Root said, beaming. “So, what do you say, round two?” she hesitated. “No, wait. Round…”

Root started counting on her fingers. Shaw rolled her eyes, and quickly interrupted.

“Not going to complain when I walk out?” Shaw said.

“If you want to,” Root said. She pouted.

“I will.”

* * *

Night two over, Shaw walked out early. Root was gone by the time she made it back. Shaw was fairly sure she’d regret taking Root back to her place, but so far it had been worth it.

At least she hadn’t seen Root again. Sure, Root was entertaining, but there was always that little joke. Root liked to pretend that they were soulmates, even though there was no way to know.

It wasn’t something Shaw wanted to give too much thought to.

She was at a bar when someone moved to sit beside her. Shaw didn’t turn, not really paying attention to them, until-

“Come here often?”

Shaw looked sideways, to see a smirking Root. She just about suppressed the urge to throw her drink at Root, opting instead to gulp it down.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Shaw said, flatly.

“Afraid not sweetie,” Root said. “If you want proof we’re soulmates, looks like the universe wants us together.”

“Or you’re a stalker.”

“Or that,” Root conceded. “You can make up your own mind.”

“ _Are_ you following me?” Shaw said.

“Afraid not, sweetie,” Root said. “I’d just turn up at your place if I wanted to. This is just me being lucky.”

“Or be being unlucky,” Shaw said. She sighed. “Twice is bad luck, three times is…”

“Good luck?”

“A pain.”

“You’re sweet,” Root said. She smiled, still; Shaw glared, and gestured to the bartender for another drink.

Shaw stayed where she was, pointedly not facing Root. Root, meanwhile, didn’t seem to care; out of the corner of her eye Shaw could see a constant grin.

“Just a drinks-date this time, then?” Root said.

“It’s not a date.”

“But you don’t mind me hanging around?” Root said.

Shaw sighed, and didn’t answer. Well, she could do worse.


	165. Here With Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think the prompt for this one was something kiss-cam related.

Shaw craned her neck slightly, making sure she could get a good view of the game. People were still crowding in, standing and moving past one another, but she was fairly sure this was a good vantage point.

For the moment, she was sat next to an empty seat. Tomas was picking up snacks.

She wouldn’t exactly call what they had dating, but there were a few perks. Having someone to get the snacks at games was one of them.

Meanwhile, a woman carefully crossed in, to sit down on the other side of the empty seat. She looked from side to side, briefly, before waving at Shaw.

“Hey there,” the woman said. “How’s it going?”

There was an undeniably flirtatious edge to the woman’s voice, not helped by the fact Shaw had those words tattooed. There was a momentary pause.

“I’m here with someone,” Shaw said, hoping to cut off the discussion.

Instead, the woman raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t envy them,” she said. “I’m Root, by the way.”

“Shaw.”

“Nice to meet you,” another playful smirk, before Root sat back, settling back into her chair.

She mimed zipping her lips behind Tomas’ back, as he sat down. Shaw did her best to ignore her.

When the game started, it was easier. Shaw kept her eyes forward, assuming Root was doing the same, and didn’t have any need to look sideways at her apparent soulmate.

That was just one long, awkward conversation waiting to happen, and it wasn’t a conversation Shaw was entire sure she wanted.

When an interval came, Shaw leaned back, slumping slightly. She nodded to Tomas, absently picking up a snack. She scowled when a roar went through the audience; apparently the kiss cam was active.

She only watched it out of the corner of her eye, less than thrilled.

When she saw herself pop up on the screen, she glared. The crowd cheered, and she continued to glare.

She turned her head, more to see how Tomas was reacting, but that was apparently enough to set the crowd off.

He was looking at her, slightly embarrassed, but with a glint in his eyes that she recognized. Of course he wouldn’t mind. Shaw rolled her eyes, debating whether or not to lean forwards-

And she caught sight of Root behind Tomas, not visible on the camera but mouthing ‘pick me.’

Turning had definitely been a mistake.

Shaw quirked her head, just slightly. She might as well have fun with this, if it was going to happen; plus soulmates were meant to be fun.

Shaw leaned forwards, and Tomas moved in response-

Only to find his head pushed rather roughly to the side by the woman behind him, as Root leant past him to meet Shaw’s lips.

It was meant to be a quick thing. It was only after a couple of seconds that it became apparent Root planned to keep going, and Shaw rather eagerly went with it.

Eventually, though, Shaw broke the kiss. She hesitated for a few seconds, staring at Root. Root just smirked, before moving back to her seat.

Tomas, meanwhile, looked somewhat perturbed.

“Hate to break it to you like this,” Root stage-whispered, as the camera moved away.

Tomas looked between them, expression changing as Root started talking about soulmates. Shaw rolled her eyes; still, though, she smirked.

Well, at least Root was entertaining.


	166. Fair Enough 2

Shaw was relaxing at the end of the day, only half paying attention to the news playing in the background, when Caroline Turing’s name was mentioned. Then, listening to the story, she swore.

“Today, noted therapist Caroline was held hostage in her office for five hours, while a woman took over her role and spoke to her clients. The last of these clients has not been seen since his appointment. When asked for comment, the police say it is too soon to officially declare anyone a missing person, but they are looking into it…”

Shaw reached for the remote, and muted the TV. After a moment, they showed a photo labelled as ‘Caroline Turing,’ and it definitely wasn’t the woman Shaw had seen.

Ok. So that ridiculous tale she’d thought was meant to make her loosen up was true.

That was… worrying.

It was a couple of minutes before Shaw remembered she’d been given not-Caroline’s number. When she found it, she just stared for a little while.

And that was her soulmate. That was something that didn’t bear forgetting.

It was with mild trepidation that Shaw dialled the number. It barely rang twice before not-Caroline picked it up.

“Hey sweetie,” said the familiar voice. “Been watching the news?”

Shaw paused.

“How did you know it was me?” Shaw said.

“What? Oh, the ‘sweetie,’” not-Caroline said. “I didn’t. Accidentally flirted with a couple of mob bosses so far today, it’s been awkward.”

“Who are you, anyway?”

“Can’t I keep being Caroline? Fine then, you can call me Root.”

“What kind of a name is Root?”

“It’s my name,” ‘Root,’ said, as playfully as ever. “And you, still Sameen Shaw?”

“Not all of us need to use aliases.”

“I don’t, not always,” Root said. “It was like I told you, just needed to get at the guy after you.”

There was a muffled yelp on the other side of the phone.

“One second,” Root said.

There was a tap as her phone was evidently put down, before a bit of muted shouting, and a handful of thuds. Eventually, Root returned to her phone.

“Sorry about that. So, like having a soulmate that’s a major news story?” Root said.

“ _What_ was that?”

“What? The noise?” Root said. “Just an uncooperative client. You know how it is.”

“Not really,” Shaw said, slowly. “Is he the one that came in after me?”

“Do you really want to know the details?” Root said. “I mean, it’s sweet you want to know all about my life, but much more and you’ll be an accessory.”

Shaw hesitated. Great, the person who pretended to be a therapist and got the timetable was the one talking sense.

In fairness, Shaw was distracted.

“Want to meet for coffee?” Root said.

“What?” Shaw said.

“It’s a hot drink,” Root said. “People have it when-”

“I _know_ ,” Shaw said. “You’re asking me out for coffee?”

“Unless you want to skip straight to the sex?”

Ok, Root was going to take some getting used to. Shaw decided to assume she wasn’t joking, though, after how their first meeting had gone.

“Be honest,” Root said, “Do you like me more or less now you’ve found out I’m a criminal rather than a therapist?”

“Fair bit more,” Shaw said.

“Knew it.”


	167. I Didn't Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is one of those stories where I like the idea more than I like the execution. Hope you enjoy anyway.

She was due to be married in, ooh, five hours. Her family needed a connection to another family, and apparently this was the only way they could think of getting it.

Shaw could understand it, to a point. She was hardly going to marry for love, anyway; if it had been up to her she probably wouldn’t marry at all. It wasn’t her thing.

Still, she wasn’t going to be happy needing to go through with it. She’d managed to avoid nearly all rehearsals, and missed meeting her fiancée. It made things easier.

She knew the plan, anyway. Most people did. Any arranged marriage started by the two people meeting, and saying the other’s tattoo. The idea was that way they might well be soulmates.

Maybe the universe would conspire to make them meet that way, or maybe they’d just grow into soulmates.

Arranged marriages were meant to be more stable, anyway; the participants made an effort to ensure it’d work out, rather than assuming they would. Maybe that meant some people were genuinely soulmates.

Even if that was the case, it hardly made Shaw more enthusiastic.

And eventually the time came she was meant to be walking down the aisle. Shaw stomped as much as anything, meeting the stranger at the far end.

They’d been given lines and vows beforehand.

“I didn’t know,” the stranger said, by rote. Shaw’s soulmate tattoo.

Shaw, meanwhile, remembered the line she’d been told to say, something about travelling, and opted for:

“Fuck you.”

There was a pause. Her fiancée’s ring-bearer squeaked. There was a much longer pause.

Shaw would admit to being slightly proud of bringing the ceremony to a halt; she’d ensured they couldn’t be soulmates, so each of them was bound to meet someone else.

Arranged marriages were typically rare for that reason; there’d need to be mutual agreement beforehand. They were easy to sabotage.

Despite a mildly sadistic sense of pride, the ring-bearer’s squeak distracted her. She turned her attention sideways.

“What?” Shaw said.

The ring-bearer hesitated.

“Root?” Shaw’s now-ex-fiancée said, turning.

“I didn’t know,” the ring-bearer said, in reply.

Shaw hesitated.

Well, if there was any situation she wouldn’t mind meeting her soulmate, this was one of them. She did look forward to the chaos this would cause.

Plus something about her soulmate having _fuck you_ tattooed on their chest appealed to her.

“Root?” Shaw said, echoing what she assumed was her name.

“I… guess the wedding’s off?” Root said.

“Better be.”


	168. Enlist 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested sequel, Shaw in denial. Business as usual then.

Shaw wasn’t particularly looking forward to seeing Root again. It was needed though; for her to finish enlisting, Root would need to sign off on the paperwork to confirm Shaw had already met her soulmate.

Root had called her, and after some pressing had moved on to setting up a meeting with that paperwork.

Then it had taken a lot more work to shift the location of the meeting from an expensive restaurant, past coffee shop, and to the processing station again. Root had sounded slightly disappointed.

Eventually, Shaw came in. She was guided to a room similar to the one she’d been in before, with little more than a table and two chairs.

“Let’s get this over with,” Shaw said, sitting down.

Root, meanwhile, had a worrying smile on her face.

“First thing’s first, are you thirsty?” Root said. “Or hungry? If it took you a while to get here-”

“It takes a second to sign a piece of paper,” Shaw said. “I’ll survive.”

She thought she’d gotten past Root’s attempts to make this a date.

After a moment, though, Root’s expression shifted. Oh, apparently she had; it was just a last quip. That was worryingly easy.

“Don’t you want to read it first?” Root said. “You should always read something before signing it. Make sure everything’s accurate.”

Shaw hated it when Root had a point. Reluctantly, she reached over, eyes skimming over the sheet.

Her brain was mostly on autopilot. She got three or four lines down before she started to realize that the contract seemed to have very little to do with soulmates or the military.

With calmness that surprised her, Shaw put the sheet back on the table, and looked evenly across to Root.

“Something wrong?” Root said. “Did have to guess a few details, but I’m pretty confident about-”

“Did you just copy that from Fifty Shades of Grey?” Shaw said. “I’m _not_ signing that contract.”

“No!” Root said, offended. “Had to make major changes to Fifty Shades before I’d want to sign my name anywhere near it. What’s the problem?”

“Well, firstly, I’m not ‘the submissive,’ and-”

“Sure,” Root said, sceptically.

“And secondly,” Shaw hurried on, “This isn’t why I’m here. Where’s the official paperwork? You sign it to say you’re my soulmate, I get to join up, that’s all I want.”

“This is official,” Root pouted. “Last paragraph, it gets mentioned.”

Despite herself, Shaw found herself looking down the sheet again, finding the lines Root mentioned. Sure enough, the brief text that Shaw was interested in was there.

It was just surrounded by a lot of unnecessary material. “I don’t believe for a moment that any official military paperwork mentions bondage,” Shaw said.

“Is that a no on signing it?” Root said.

“Of _course_ it’s a no, Root,” Shaw said. “Where’s the real form?”

Root gave a theatrical sigh. When Shaw tried to return the contract, Root gestured for her to keep it, before reaching under the table.

She withdrew a much more concise form, with spaces for two spaces for signatures at the bottom, and thankfully no mention of dominants or submissives.

Shaw grabbed it before Root could add anything more, took the time to read it in extra detail just in case, and signed it.

After a moment, Root did the same.

It wasn’t much of a document. ‘The two signatories swear that they are soulmates,’ nothing too detailed. It didn’t need to be.

Root took the signed sheet away, filing it. Then, after a moment, she looked up to Shaw.

“Out of curiosity, how much did I get right?” Root said.

“What?” Shaw said.

“The contract,” she said, gesturing to the sheet Shaw still held. “Things you’re into, not into… How well did I do?”

“Aside from calling me submissive?” Shaw said. “I’m not.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“ _Root_.”

“Just an observation,” Root said. “Going through all this to get into a career where you get someone barking orders at you all day, and you have to obey no matter what.”

Shaw glared. Root didn’t seem particularly affected.

“Fine,” Root said, sighing. “Apart from that obviously-true statement, how well did I do?”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Despite herself, she ran her eyes down Root’s contract, raising her eyebrows at a couple of terms.

Slowly, she looked up, and paused.

“Not terribly,” Shaw conceded.

Root beamed.


	169. Good To See You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a request for a deaf-Root AU.

Root was ordering coffee when she met Shaw. Root pointed at an item on the menu, nodding at the server.

Once it was served, she gestured to show thanks; a hand on her chin, moving outwards in gratitude. She took her drink, before looking around for a chair.

Just as she was moving towards it, someone bumped into her. Root just managed to keep hold of her cup, turning around.

There was a woman already there, speaking quickly. Root could spot irritation on her face.

It was odd. Root had never been particularly adept at lip-reading; she’d learnt, and generally could manage when people spoke slower, but when people hurried over their words and kept their lips close, it was trickier. Even so, she could easily read moods from how their mouths moved.

With her free hand, Root gestured to her ear, and then her chin; she thought of it as pointing at her ear, and then making a shushing sound. _Deaf_.

Typically, she’d noticed that even among people who didn’t know ASL, they could usually recognize it being spoken.

The woman nodded a curt pseudo-apology. Evidently she’d expected Root to hear her coming beforehand.

Moving on, Root went to her table. She sat, drank her coffee, and left.

It was a couple of days before she saw the woman again, at the same coffee shop. Root just nodded across, not approaching. She had a good memory for faces, though often found others didn’t share it.

The woman nodded back, absently.

It was on her next visit to the coffee shop that the woman sat at her table. Root shifted slightly, but welcomed the company.

She never really understood how people saw coffee shops like this. It was meant to be quite a busy, noisy place, but it might as well be deserted, for all she could hear.

Root pulled out a small pad of paper. She carried it with her, for any time she needed to converse with a stranger. Quickly, she wrote, and passed the sheet across the table.

_What’s your name?_

The woman looked over, and said something. Root frowned; the ‘sh’ start was distinctive, but the rest was odd.

“Shore?” Root tried.

She couldn’t be sure exactly how the word came out and sounded to the woman. Speaking while deaf was like flying blind; she was somewhat fond of that analogy.

She knew all the lip-shapes various sounds and words made, but couldn’t be sure exactly how to produce them, or all the intricacies of what happened in the throat and mouth. Her attempts were little more than a guess.

An odd smirk crossed the woman’s face, before she took Root’s pen, and wrote _Shaw_.

Shaw, then. Probably a surname. Root took the paper back, and wrote _Root_.

Shaw said it; Root watched her mouth form the word. She did like watching how people spoke; even the same words had subtle variations depending on the person.

Root took the paper again; _you look like you’re trying to kiss me_.

Shaw frowned, murmured ‘Root’ again, then snorted. The syllable did take fairly pursed lips to say.

After that, they met often. On average, they were at the shop at the same time every other day, and whoever got in second usually gravitated to the other.

They passed notes to one another. Despite how unsociable Shaw usually seemed to be, she tended to relax more around Root. And Root, for her part, liked having someone to talk to.

There weren’t many people she could sit down and converse with. There was a small community of ASL-speakers, with and without hearing, but honestly she didn’t like spending too long around them.

After a good few weeks, Shaw came in, sat opposite Root, and started moving. She touched her hands, with all fingers outstretched, before touching index fingers similarly, and finishing off with gesturing out from her eyes with her fingers in a V. _Good to see you_.

Root tensed.

Shaw frowned at the reaction, before gesturing. She quickly scribbled down a _did I make a mistake?_

Root shook her head, but still took a moment.

ASL didn’t really have a written form; there were plenty of attempts, but no overall consensus. Besides, in general, the Deaf could use more typical writing just fine.

Root knew that she had that phrase tattooed on her chest; she’d wondered about that a few times. Even so, she’d never really wanted to look it up. Obviously she’d never hear those words, so would she miss her soulmate, or would they write it down, or would she lip-read it?

All things considered, ASL was the only actual language ‘spoken’ there. So the first thing her soulmate signed to her was her tattoo.

Root hesitated, regarding Shaw somewhat different.

Wait, how would it work for her? Root tried to remember how their first interaction had gone. Then, shaking off that distraction, Root gestured.

It was a more complex word; an arc drawn with one hand from the other, before raising and lowering a few fingers.

Shaw stared at her, baffled. After a moment, Root took the sheet of paper, and wrote down _soulmate_.

She turned the sheet, and pushed it back to Shaw. Shaw stared at it for a few seconds. Then she shifted her gaze, and stared at Root.

Root moved back, intending to expose her tattoo, when Shaw shook her head. Evidently she’d guessed; instead, Shaw tilted her head back, and exposed _deaf_ written neatly over her heart.

She quickly grabbed at the pen; _was that what you said?_

Root nodded. She remembered that, when she first ran into Shaw. She’d signed a quick explanation; apparently that had counted as her first word to Shaw, even if Shaw hadn’t understood it at the time.

A little self-consciously, Shaw moved to hide her tattoo again. Root still looked at her, a little uncertainly taking the pen and paper. _So what do you think?_

Shaw signed back. Apparently she had managed to teach herself some of the basics: open hand at her lips, moved outwards with a smile. _Good_.


	170. I Am 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested sequel to a ficlet that went up a while ago. Enjoy!

Root’s fans were the worst, Shaw reflected.

They were back at Root’s home, Shaw standing guard to the side, while the same crowd as ever was outside. They were quieter than usual, after Root’s last interview, but this was still one of their peak times.

It was too hot to keep the windows closed, really, though Shaw kept them that way. It muted the noise.

Shaw tried to school her expression. Evidently, though, she didn’t do a good job of hiding her irritation.

“Something wrong?” Root said, looking up from her chair.

“The usual,” Shaw said. She gestured to the window.

“Oh. Jealousy. Got it.”

“ _Not_ jealousy,” Shaw said.

“You’ve made it very obvious you’re possessive,” Root said. “It’s fine, just keep it under control.”

“ _Root_.”

Every time she tried to make her entirely legitimate noise complaints known, Root always seemed to default to assuming Shaw was just annoyed that other people liked Root.

That was annoying too, admittedly, but she was used to Root’s particular brand of aggravation.

“You’re not jealous?” Root said. She looked up, innocently.

“ _No._ ”

“Ok,” Root said.

That was rather easy. Shaw frowned, knowing Root a bit too well to trust that. Her confusion only deepened when Root stood up, wandering over to the window.

Root peered outside for a few seconds. As someone saw her, she gave a quick wave, before moving back, and closing the curtains.

“I’m inviting them in,” Root said.

“No.”

“Thought you weren’t jealous?”

“I’m your bodyguard,” Shaw said. “You’re surrounded by controversy, you’re not inviting strangers into your home.”

“Just one, then,” Root said. “You can keep an eye on her. Any complaints?”

Shaw glared.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Root chirped.

Shaw kept very closely behind her, as Root went around to the front door. Root stepped outside, nodding and smiling and shaking a few hands. Shaw did her best to keep scanning the crowd for potential threats, though her eyes did keep returning to Root.

Apparently Root was being serious. She picked the first woman they came across who was already making bedroom eyes; Shaw really couldn’t stand Root’s fans.

“And what’s your name?” Root said.

“Claire,” the woman said. Root took her hand, only occasionally letting her eyes dart sideways to see Shaw’s reaction.

“Nice to meet you,” Root said, and smiled. “A fan, then?”

“I’ve read all of your books,” Claire said. “Inspired me to try and follow your footsteps, in AI research. Your work’s so-”

Shaw tuned it out. She scowled, slightly, doing her best to keep an eye on the crowd, while still watching what Root was doing.

And Root was definitely flirting. Damn it. Root was far too good at being insufferable.

“Do you want to talk about it inside?” Root said. “Seems quieter. I’d love to hear what you think about how the Dartmouth proposal and qualia intersect, if you read that.”

“I did,” Claire said, “I don’t think there’s much of a paradox. The problem with qualia’s just the lack of reference points, but with some subjective experiences-”

Shaw coughed, somewhat loudly.

“Right,” Root said. She smiled to Claire; “My bodyguard’s a bit nervous about me being out here, we really should go inside.”

“Really?” Claire’s eyes lit up.

Shaw moved closer, grabbing Root’s wrist just a little tightly. She leaned closer;

“You’re not bringing anyone inside,” Shaw said, in a low whisper.

It was a security concern. Just a security concern.

Root faced Shaw, pouting playfully. Shaw’s expression didn’t shift. Eventually, Root looked back at Claire, apologetically.

“Sorry, it’s a bad time apparently,” Root said. “Have a call I should be on soon. Nice to meet you.”

Root began to move back inside, hurried along by Shaw. Shaw made a point to not look at just how smug Root’s smirk was.


	171. This is a Robbery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request: Root as a bank teller.
> 
> Note: sequel requests are now closed. As much as I'd like to keep writing this series, there are a lot of other things I need to focus on. There are still plenty of ficlets to come, and we ought to hit 200 which counts as a good milestone in my book, but I need to do something to bring the amount of requests down to a more manageable level.   
> Thank you for reading.

Root hid her boredom. Well, doing that was part of the job. She smiled, acted vaguely interested, and waited for person after person to approach, talk, and leave.

There was only so much entertainment you could derive from cashing cheques.

A woman came from the front of the queue, stopping by Root’s counter. Root opened her mouth, to deliver the stock “How can I help?” greeting, before faltering.

The woman had shifted just slightly, perfectly casually lifting one arm to rest on the small surface on the other side of the glass divide to Root, and in doing so lifting her jacket to reveal a gun.

“This is a robbery, in case you haven’t guessed,” the woman said, quietly. “Keep your hands where I can see them, and don’t make any signs.”

Root shifted, uncertainly, carefully bringing both her hands up onto her desk, visible and away from the panic button. The woman nodded, appreciatively, before taking in Root’s nametag.

“Root, right?” the woman said, still levelly. “You might be thinking you can run. Maybe you’re even thinking that the bulletproof glass will protect you. It might do, if it wasn’t for the obvious hole.”

She reached forwards, tapping the space which was usually used for teller and customer to pass items to and from each other.

“I’m a quick draw,” the woman said. “I can get my gun out, slide it in, and fire, before you can move a step. All that’ll succeed in doing is creating a panic. Understand?”

Root nodded, mute.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” the woman said.

“Just thank you,” Root said.

She cracked a smile. Evidently the woman misinterpreted it, scowling. Even so, she recognized those words. She muttered a brief curse, before:

“I don’t care if we’re soulmates, don’t think that’s going to make me go easy on you,” the woman said.

“I know,” Root said. “You just broke up a very tedious day. How can I help?”

Now it was the woman that was hesitating.

“Can I know my soulmate’s name?” Root said. “Just in case you get caught for any other robberies, I’ll know.”

The woman paused.

“You’ve been caught on camera,” Root said, gesturing. “Your identity won’t be much of a secret.”

“Fine,” the woman said, and sighed. “Shaw. Call me Shaw.”

“Sure will.”

“I might just shoot you for that pun,” Shaw said. “Anyway. I’d like to make a withdrawal.”

“From what account?”

“Does it matter?” Shaw said. “Pick one at random. If you’ve done it before, just remember the details. Give me, let’s see, ten thousand. Keep going through accounts until you get to at least that.”

Root moved-

“And angle your screen,” Shaw said. “Let me see what you’re doing.”

“Yes sweetie,” Root said. Shaw glared.

Root moved her computer just slightly, disguising the motion as straightening it, before calling up a list of accounts she’d accessed recently. She scanned balances quickly, opting to not drain anyone dry.

Maybe she should be more worried about the bank robber with a gun she could easily pull, but Root was busy enjoying a departure from her usual routine.

Every few seconds she smiled across to Shaw, while marking withdrawal after withdrawal.

“Can I do anything else for you today?” Root said, as she would to a normal customer.

Shaw regarded her suspiciously.

Meanwhile, Root reached for a scrap of paper. Shaw raised her eyebrows, watching carefully, relieved to note Root didn’t seem to be warning anyone. Instead, Root wrote down a phone number.

Shaw watched carefully as Root retrieved the money for Shaw, moving it in bundles. Root slipped the scrap of paper on top of one stack.

“You’re giving me your phone number, really?” Shaw said.

“Soulmates,” Root said. She shrugged. “Call me if you need a second pair of hands.”

“You’re a bank teller, not a thief.”

“A very bored bank teller,” Root said. “Besides, there are plenty of things you might want someone else’s hands for.”

Root met Shaw’s eyes for a long few seconds. Eventually it was Shaw who had to look away, somewhat surprised by how this robbery was going. Shaw took the money, hastily pocketing it.

“You’re serious?” Shaw said, slowly.

“Why wouldn’t I be? We’re soulmates.”

Shaw sighed. After a moment though, she looked up.

“Then give me, say, half a minute before you raise the alarm,” Shaw said. “Then we’ll see.”

“Got it,” Root said. Just as Shaw turned to leave, though, she raised her voice. “One thing, first.”

Shaw slowly turned back, tensed.

“Does this earn me a date?” Root said, beaming.

Shaw rolled her eyes instead of answering, walking away quickly.


	172. Madam President 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sequel request, back in what's basically the wish-fulfilment AU at this point.

“You want to what?” Control said.

“It’s not a big deal,” Root said. “Presidents tour projects and industries all the time. Put in an appearance, thank people for their service, that kind of thing.”

“Northern Lights isn’t a university,” Control said. “Word of the project’s existence cannot reach the public. A visit brings unnecessary publicity.”

“Which means the people working there can’t have had proper thanks,” Root said. “It’s only fair. A cover story won’t take much effort.”

Control paused.

“You know I’m your boss, right?” Root said.

“Very well,” Control said. “You can visit, unaccompanied. Friends, family, even secret service do not have the clearance.”

“One secret service,” Root said. “I still need protection.”

“I assure you, ISA facilities are some of the safest on the planet.”

“But there’s the journey to and from,” Root said. “And how many of the people there voted for me? Always need to be careful.”

Another pause. Control regarded Root for a few moments more, getting a measure of her.

“One,” Control said. “That is acceptable, Madam President. Do you have someone in mind?”

“Sameen Shaw,” Root said. “I trust her completely.”

Idly, Root patted Shaw’s head under the table. Shaw didn’t sit in on most meetings, but ones where Root expected a certain amount of argument or tedium, it was good to have her there.

“Your soulmate?” Control said. “Acceptable.”

Both Root and Shaw stiffened; neither of them had exactly publicized that fact. It was Shaw who relaxed first. Whatever else Control knew, it was unlikely she knew Shaw was right there.

If she had, Control probably wouldn’t have been so cavalier talking about Northern Lights.

“Don’t be surprised, information is my job, Madam President,” Control said. “When would you like to visit?”

“I’m free next week,” Root said. “Email me a time that’s good for you.”

When the meeting was over, Shaw hurriedly stood back up, taking her position by the wall. She made sure to look particularly professional any time Control spoke to Root after that.

Root had wanted to visit Northern Lights ever since reading the briefing on the topic.

The basic idea had been amazing; analysing all communications and online traffic and camera footage at an astonishing rate, predicting future crimes, all while keeping human eyes out of it.

Privacy wasn’t violated, and there were countless benefits. All that paled before the premise behind the project, though. An all-seeing artificial intelligence, a god from the machine, somewhere in the country.

Root was immediately prepared when the ISA called to set a date. They’d set up another address for her to give in the general neighbourhood, as cover. Once that was done, she’d be shown to Northern Lights.

So Root hurried through the platitudes and promises, smiled at the people, and went back to her car. Shaw sat beside her, and together they were taken well off the beaten track.

They swapped cars a few times, Shaw even changing into casual clothes. She needed to look much less conspicuous, here.

Root was allowed to look more formal, as she was putting an appearance in at the facility. As such, she wasn’t allowed to leave the cars.

Eventually, when the labyrinthine security was satisfied, Root was guided out of her car, and into what was meant to be a nuclear power facility.

“Wow,” Shaw said, flatly, looking at the dull brick. “Please tell me this isn’t your idea of a date.”

“Why, want a date, sweetie?” Root said. “Knew you were a romantic.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

She kept close beside Root as they were escorted through the facility.

There were very few staff. Most were plainclothes guards who knew that there was something top-secret in the general vicinity, but didn’t know what. They didn’t run into anyone who seemed to know about what was apparently named the Machine.

They walked through the corridors, Root taking the typical duty of nodding and smiling and shaking hands, and Shaw walking a few steps behind her and watching.

Eventually they made it to a more secure door, and were allowed through. Their escorts left them there, not having the clearance themselves to go inside.

Only one person was in the chamber with the Machine, a lone caretaker who didn’t seem to do much beyond sit at a desk.

“This is it?” Shaw said, disinterested.

It was nothing more than a block of servers, as far as the eye could see. An impressive amount, yes, but hardly inspiring.

And yet Root looked at them as though she was looking at God, her step slowing and her eyes widening. She beheld the room, and the AI working endlessly away, and stared.

It was almost a minute before she went over to the caretaker, going through the stock handshake and “Thank you for your service.” It seemed far more genuine when she said it then.

Then Root moved, to face the Machine fully, and just stood there to bask. Shaw moved to her side.

“You’re pretty weird, you know,” Shaw said.

“I know,” Root said, a beatific smile on her face.


	173. Si

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request was for non-English tattoos.

Root didn’t think of herself as much of a holidaymaker, but she did like to travel. There was just something about standing in new cities and cultures, and looking around at things so similar and so different to what she knew.

She walked slowly down the beach, keeping on the path adjacent to it. She hated getting sand in her shoes, and she got about the same view from where she was.

Every few seconds she slowed to look around. Divides were always interesting; on her left was the beach sparsely populated by people relaxing and lazing, while on her right was the usual bustle of a town.

She was vaguely aware of the others on the same path, though more focused on the calm.

“Hola, podrias sacarme una foto?”

Root turned around, spotting a woman offering a camera. Well, that was the other reason Root liked holidays to Spanish-speaking places.

“Si,” Root said, brightly.

She knew what the woman had said; she’d had it tattooed on her for as long as she’d lived, of course she’d looked up a translation.

The woman wanted a photo taken. Root took the camera, obliging.

The woman didn’t react particularly to Root’s words, but it must be something she heard a lot.

“Gracias,” the woman said, taking the camera back. “Soy-”

“Sorry, I don’t know any more than that,” Root said. “You’ve pretty much exhausted my vocabulary. Always meant to learn more, kept getting distracted.”

The woman slowed, midway through pocketing her camera-phone.

“I don’t know the Spanish for soulmate,” Root said, helpfully.

“Alma gemela,” the woman said, by instinct. She blinked. “I speak English. You do, then?”

“Just on holiday here,” Root said.

“And how do you know I’m your-”

“First person who’s asked me to take a photo,” Root said. “And what’s yours say?”

“Nothing special,” the woman said. “Everyone says ‘si,’ that’s why I moved here.”

“To meet your soulmate?”

“To be sure it wasn’t anything special,” the woman said.

“I did the same,” Root said, but shrugged, “Well, for holidays. To make sure I’d hear it, and meet you. Kind of have to be curious.”

“And you didn’t learn the language?”

“I meant to,” Root said. “Always thought I had more time. I get distracted easily,” she paused. “Anyway, I’m Root.”

“Shaw,” the woman said. She frowned for a moment. “Well this was a wasted effort.”

“Only if you think you’re not going to enjoy this,” Root said. She beamed. “Sure you will.”


	174. Can I Make This Really Hard For You? 2

Shaw had a visitor. That surprised her, to a point; she hadn’t added anyone to her list. Keep her head down, beyond self-defence, it wouldn’t be too hard to get through her stint behind bars.

Generally, she only expected visitors from lawyers. Finch wouldn’t need to worry about her after the plea deal though, and any ADAs who might want to cut a deal would no doubt be off-put by the fact she had no ties to organized crime.

So there wasn’t any visitor she could expect.

And then she walked out, and found a room bare except for one desk, and Root sitting on the far side, dressed exquisitely and tapping one foot. She beamed as soon as Shaw walked in.

Of course. That was the downside to trying to play off a soulmate connection to get a lower sentence; it meant they actually expected a, well, connection.

Root fidgeted slightly as Shaw walked over, sitting on the opposite side of the table.

It was easier to talk like this, anyway. She’d gotten a minimum security prison as part of the plea deal.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” Shaw said in a monotone.

Root paused. She seemed just as lost for words; apparently the idea of a criminal and prosecutor being paired was taking some getting used to.

“Figured we should talk,” Root said.

“We did,” Shaw said.

“Without your lawyer hanging around.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“You’re not accused, you’re convicted,” Root said. “So no one’s prosecuting any more. Makes things simpler.”

Shaw bit back a sigh. Well that got rid of her easy escape.

That left honesty then. Root was an ADA, she’d probably heard worse. Shaw took a deeper breath.

“Look, no offense, but all I cared about was you getting me a lighter plea deal,” Shaw said. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s all soulmate means. All I wanted.”

“I see,” Root said. She paused. “That’s probably smart.”

Shaw hesitated. Somehow she’d expected more of a fight.

“What?” Shaw said.

“You’re in prison,” Root said. “I put a fair few of the people in there with you away. Not falling for me’s a good move.”

“Good,” Shaw said. She hesitated. “So long as that’s settled.”

“Right,” Root echoed.

She seemed just as uncertain. Shaw watched her carefully, half-expecting a sudden objection. At least a fight would have ensured this was over.

“So that’s it?” Shaw said.

“Why, want me to fight for you?” Root said. “Thought you didn’t care?”

“I _don’t_ ,” Shaw said.

“It’s good advice,” Root said, “Especially while you’re in there, you don’t want to be close to me.”

“I get that.”

“So, what?” Root said.

Shaw shrugged.

She didn’t want a soulmate, Shaw had always known that. It was too much trouble. Still, with how much people she’d known seemed to adore theirs, she always expected to have to put up more of a fight.

Most of her was relieved that Root was taking this well, but some part of her was kind of insulted.

And, ok, maybe Root was nice to look at. And vaguely impressive, the little she’d seen of Root’s legal prowess.

Shaw sighed.

“Will you visit?” Shaw said.

Root raised her eyebrows; Shaw hurried on.

“You don’t have to,” Shaw said, disaffectedly. “It’d just be nice to talk to someone.”

“And if the people in there find out you’re getting close to an ADA?”

“I can take care of myself,” Shaw said. “Just a thought.”

Root regarded her, uncertainly. Then, whatever Root was thinking, it seemed to please her. She started giving a smile that was at odds with her professional demeanour and clothing.

“Just visits?” Root said. “Is that it?”

“Weren’t you the one who was happy with nothing?” Shaw said.

“Until I found out you wanted talks,” Root said. “Sure you don’t want me to pull a few strings? Sure I can get conjugal visits if you-”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Law allows them for married partners, and soulmates,” Root said. “It’s all above board.”

“The legality wasn’t what I had an issue with.”

“And that’s why you’re in prison, sweetie,” Root said. “Besides, you’re the one who asked me to stick around.”

“And I’m regretting it.”

“Fine,” Root said. She pouted.

“That look may work on judges,” Shaw said. “I’m not a judge.”

“We’ll table that discussion then.”

“What discussion?” Shaw said. “You’re needy, I get it, find someone else.”

“Don’t want to cheat on my soulmate.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. How could one person go from professional to infuriatingly playful so quickly?

“Fine,” Root said. “We’ll stick to visits. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Getting close to wanting to cancel now anyway.”

“I meant about conjugal visits,” Root said. She smirked.

“And annoying me’s meant to help you get them?”

“Some people prefer it when they’re angry,” Root said. “Anyway, see you next week?”

“Sure,” Shaw said, wearily. “See you.”


	175. Two-Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request for this one was dentist Root, I think. 
> 
> And before you ask, yes, Root does her best to make sure she has someone booked at two-thirty every day.

Root checked her schedule idly, seeing when the next person was due. Not too much longer.

Sameen Shaw. Apparently she’d been checked out elsewhere, before being sent to Root. There had been a fight, ending in a cracked molar, and a crown was the recommended treatment.

Which meant wearing down the tooth, ensuring some of it was cracked away, and fitting the crown over the top to essentially replace the damaged part. Routine enough.

Root wandered around her office, picking out the various bits of equipment required.

It was a few minutes before her next patient came in. Distractedly, Root was still going over the procedure in her mind; she liked to make sure she was prepared.

“Sameen Shaw, two-thirty, right?” Root said, turning after a moment. “Sit yourself down, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Root took a second to regard the woman. She didn’t exactly look like someone who’d get into a tooth-braking fight, with the exception of her expression. Something had made her give a slightly worrying scowl.

“Ok, let’s have a look,” Root said. “Open wide.”

She started with a torch, craning her head slightly to peer into Shaw’s mouth. It was easy to track down the cracked tooth. Root squinted, considering how best to start.

“Does it hurt?” Root said. She reached in, carefully prodding to gauge how deep the crack was.

Shaw gave an indistinct grunt. After a moment, Root withdrew her fingers.

“Sorry about that,” Root said. “What was that?”

Root was still perched just over Shaw, torch illuminating the interior of her mouth.

It was a few seconds before Shaw spoke. Initially her eyes darted around, as though she could find a way out of it. She exhaled, sighing as best she could with an open mouth.

“Fine, yes, it hurts.”

Shaw closed her eyes, waiting for the reaction. Somehow, it still took Root a couple of seconds. Her first reaction was wondering why Shaw was so reluctant to admit to a painful tooth.

Then she realized why those words were familiar, and understood why her first glimpse of Shaw had been her looking somewhat surprised. Unpleasantly surprised, but still.

Root dropped her torch, caught off-guard. Immediately Shaw was sitting back up, retching and choking; Root caught it in one gloved hand.

It was a couple more seconds before Root realized that Shaw’s choking fit wasn’t going to finish quickly. She shifted, sitting back, and raising her eyebrows.

Eventually, it subsided. Shaw coughed something into her hand, and, irritated, passed a chip of a tooth to Root. Root frowned at it, before understanding.

“Ok, discussion in a sec, need to look,” Root said. She gestured, and a scowling Shaw opened her mouth.

That time, Shaw stayed sitting up straight. Root peered horizontally into her mouth, with no risk of dropping the torch again.

By the look of it, the last time she’d dropped the torch had done enough damage to remove part of the already-cracked tooth. That was what had made Shaw choke so much. Content, Root moved back.

“Well, I was going to have to get rid of that bit anyway,” Root said. “Saves time.”

“ _Ow_ ,” Shaw said, flatly.

“Should’ve said something before I was poking around in your mouth then,” Root said. “Wasn’t particularly well thought out. Just be glad I didn’t have the drill out.”

“Really, that’s your reaction?”

“Why?” Root said. “Want a lollipop instead?”

“ _No_ ,” Shaw said. She hesitated, then, not quite sure of what to say.

“So, probably should anaesthetise at some point,” Root said. “Not got any more surprises planned?”

“Didn’t exactly plan that one,” Shaw said.

“True,” Root said. She chuckled.


	176. Watch Where You're Walking 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is now officially the story with the most parts. Enjoy!

Root wasn’t as subtle as she thought she was. Shaw could sit in one corner of the room, and hear Root walk in. She’d say ‘hi’ and Root would respond, just as mutual acknowledgement, and then Root would sit.

A creak of a chair, and a rustle, and then she’d hear Root working.

Shaw was fairly sure Root was writing; it was a sound she was familiar with, and it made sense. Plus Shaw’s birthday was fairly soon, evidently Root had somehow worked that out.

Writing braille made a distinctive sound. It was quiet, but that was part of what gave it away. Root went so silent when she was focusing.

There wasn’t much more rustling, so Shaw assumed Root would be using her phone to look up the braille equivalent of each letter. Then she’d be using a certain, thicker kind of card to press dots into, only to turn it over and check the protrusions she’d developed.

Writing in braille was slow going, especially when you had to look up each letter. And if your hand slipped, there was no real way to cross out, or to change how a letter looked, so you had to start over.

From the occasional muttered curse, Shaw was fairly sure Root had started over a few times. She heard the sound of stylus and card often enough, though.

So, it was no surprise when Shaw woke up on her birthday, to feel Root perched over her bed. Shaw lay where she was for a few minutes, keeping perfectly still and feigning sleep, out of spite.

“Root,” she murmured, eventually.

“How did you _know_ that time?” Root said, giving the audible equivalent of a pout. “I made sure to be quiet, and stay off your bed…”

“Your hair was on my face,” Shaw said. She batted it away; evidently Root was leaning over her.

“Oh,” Root said. She moved back, chastened. “Well, anyway, happy birthday!”

“Who told you?” Shaw said.

“Cole,” Root said. “Eventually got it out of him. So this is for you.”

An envelope was thrust onto Shaw’s chest. After a moment, she took it, running her fingers over it to find the creases and folds.

Cole was one of her old army friends; he visited a few times. Sometimes it was uncomfortably like he wanted to make sure she was still ok, but he stuck around for more social reasons after that anyway, so Shaw could live with it.

Shaw sighed, and began to tear the envelope open. She withdrew the card, feeling a generic, raised heart on the front cover, and a generic enough greeting inside.

“Thanks,” Shaw said, dully.

To be honest, she’d expected a little more, especially given how much time Root had dedicated to it.

She could feel Root deflate at her tone.

“Ok,” Root said, muted. “You’re not very good at gratitude.”

“Thought you could write more than ‘happy birthday’ in four days,” Shaw said.

“ _Very_ happy birthday,” Root corrected. “And, wait, how do you know how long it took?”

“Why are you so surprised I always know what you’re doing?” Shaw said. “You’re just a very noisy person.”

There was a loud exhalation of breath from Root, before the hasty clattering of a few footsteps. A moment more, and Shaw felt her mattress shift, Root sitting down at the far end.

“I got you this, too,” Root said, brightly.

A soft package hit Shaw’s head. She blinked, taking it and debating whether or not to throw it back. She really wasn’t one for birthdays.

Then, wearily, she started to unwrap it. The paper seemed to be the most rigid part of the gift; she felt fabric as soon as she tore through.

Carefully discarding the wrapping paper, Shaw felt the outline of the fabric. It was clothing and, by her best guess at the shape, probably a shirt. She was about to say something, when she felt a change in texture.

There seemed to be something that wasn’t fabric covering the front; it was cooler, and slightly tougher. It was easy enough to identity. There was an illustration of some kind on the front of the top.

“I’m not wearing this,” Shaw said.

“You’re _really_ terrible with gratitude,” Root said.

“I don’t trust you.”

“So?”

“So, I can feel there’s something on the front of it,” Shaw said. “I don’t trust any pattern, or drawing, or text that you decided to buy me.”

“That’s just paranoia.”

“Really?” Shaw said.

“Yup,” Root said.

“So if I called Cole, and asked him over, and asked him to let me know what was on the front of this shirt, it wouldn’t be something that would make me want to hit you?”

Root hesitated.

Shaw balled the shirt up, and threw it back at her. She heard laughter, muffled by the sound of impact, followed by the sound of the shirt being dropped on the floor.

It was a couple of moments before Shaw felt Root’s warmth beside her. She rolled her eyes, not moving immediately.

“Thanks,” Shaw said, quietly.


	177. Sameen Shaw I Presume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was something Livingstone-related, so enjoy!

Shaw liked to travel, and didn’t like people. It figured this would happen sooner or later.

It started off by walking out into the middle of nowhere. She had enough survival skills to get by with very little trouble, and there were enough resources nearby if she was inventive enough.

Technically she was meant to be remapping the area; there had been an earthquake that had toppled a number of the trees, and altered several geographical features. Sure, maybe not many came out here, but for those that did it would help to know what to expect.

She took some notes, and used her memory for the rest, getting deeper and deeper in.

She liked doing things like this. It was a good excuse to both exert herself, and get away from people. The worst part was when her phone ran out of battery; she had a spare, but didn’t want to use it up yet.

She’d gotten all her vaccinations, but some things always seemed to slip through the cracks. She was a few days in before she started feeling symptoms of something.

She was lucky, at least. There was a good, natural shelter near a river, and it was one she could only access by paddling and fighting the current somewhat.

It was out of the way, but she had easy access to water, wood and, with a little effort, food.

She decided to stay there, waiting out whatever infection she’d come down with. She had plenty of supplies with her that would help, but it wasn’t worth wasting them.

She slept, and woke up exhausted. Shaw took out one of her spare blankets, being sure to wrap up. After a few minutes, she convinced herself to set up a fire, and boil some of the running river water. When she was convinced she’d survive at least a little longer, she went back to sleep.

That state of affairs lasted a week. Shaw lingered in her enclave a little longer than she needed to, making sure she’d gotten through every trace of the bug. She went on a trip to gather herself a slight banquet, gorged, then spent a last night before moving on.

She made it a day or so more, before she felt the symptoms return. Apparently the virus was common around here.

Shaw turned back, making it back to the shelter she’d made, and collapsing. This time she knew what to expect.

After a couple more weeks, Shaw plugged the spare battery into her phone. She sent off what was little more than an SOS, unwilling to travel too far from her shelter with whatever this virus was in her system.

It came in phases. She’d be wiped out for days, before fairly functional for days more. It always came back, though.

Her enclave served her needs well enough though. Shaw was trained enough for situations like this, and she did prefer the solitary life.

She’d almost forgotten about the message she’d sent off, when there was the sound of rustling from outside, and someone splashing in the river for a few steps.

A woman waded into view, dressed in practical explorers’ gear, complete with a slightly cliché hat. She didn’t have much of a pack; apparently she was one of a party.

“Sameen Shaw, I presume?” the woman said, moving into the shelter.

It was one of Shaw’s better days. That didn’t stop her groaning. Of course it would be her soulmate that found her.

The woman immediately hurried over, misinterpreting Shaw’s reaction. She pulled a pill-bottle from one pocket, some kind of general alleviative, offering some; Shaw shook her head, pulling away.

“Save it,” Shaw said. “That’s not what I’m sick of.”

The woman paused.

“Ok,” she said, hesitantly. “Well, I know you, so only fair; you can call me Root.”

“You can call the rest of your team,” Shaw said. “Save the awkward moments.”

“Not yet,” Root said. “We split up at a divide in the river. We’re due to meet up in a couple of hours, I can let them know about you then.”

“So I’ve got to put up with you for hours?” Shaw said.

“Thought you’d be happier to be rescued.”

“Not if you’re going to be a pain.”

“Why do you think I’m going to be a pain?”

“You just look like one,” Shaw said.

Root chuckled to herself. Slowly, she paced to one side of the shelter.

She sat down, looking from side to side. Unwilling to move on, Shaw had taken a fair bit of time to set up and decorate her impromptu home. There wasn’t much else to do.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Root said.

Shaw shrugged.

“Not sure why you wanted to set out alone,” Root said.

“I prefer being alone.”

“Great thing to say to a soulmate.”

“Starting to miss it.”

“Sex isn’t as good,” Root said, absently.

Shaw raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Root said. “It’s true.”


	178. Who Yelled That? 2

Shaw looked good on a bike. Root would never stop thinking that.

They arranged to meet at another Pride, earlier in the day. The parade itself was still being prepared, with Shaw still one of the group that’d signal the start by riding down the street on her bike.

Root stared at her for a long few seconds, before Shaw realized she was there. Then Shaw shifted, sitting back with her hands still on the handlebars, and glanced sideways across to Root.

“Hey,” Shaw said.

Root hurried up, nodding, until she stood by the bike.

“Hi,” Root said, a little uncertainly. “You invited me?”

“I remember,” Shaw said. “Your friend anywhere?”

“Hanna?” Root said. “With the main crowd. Why? Thought you were inviting your soulmate.”

Root pouted. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Just curious,” Shaw said.

A moment of hesitation. From what Root had gathered, Shaw wasn’t really the most adept at relationships.

Apparently she was as baffled by this as Root was. She hadn’t expected to run into her soulmate anyway. Well, Root supposed it was comforting to know they were on the same page.

Shaw threw a helmet. Root just about caught it, surprised.

“What?” Root said.

“Get on,” Shaw said, leaning back.

“Huh?”

“If you want,” Shaw said, shrugging. “Few of us are riding as couples, thought you’d want to.”

“I guess,” Root said.

Her eyes lit up after a moment. Still, she lingered, staring at Shaw.

“Wait, you want me to sit in front of you?” Root said, taking in how Shaw had moved.

“So?” Shaw said.

She didn’t seem concerned. Root would admit, she liked the cliché; Shaw steering around her, the two of them getting nice and close, but still.

“Don’t you need to see?” Root said.

“What?”

“Well, you’re kinda short,” Root said. “If I sat in front of you-”

Shaw scowled. Root, rather quickly, fell silent.

Shrugging, Root approached, strapping the helmet over her head. Shaw lifted one arm, to let Root onto the seat, before gripping the handlebar again.

Root shifted in her seat, getting comfortable, and shuffling back against Shaw.

She felt Shaw wriggle a little, not unpleasantly, before she gave an exasperated sigh. Root bit back a smirk.

“Something wrong?” Root said, innocently.

“ _Fine_ ,” Shaw said.

“What?”

“Switch places,” Shaw said.

She nudged with one knee for Root to stand. After a moment, Root got up, moving around to sit behind Shaw.

“Don’t say it,” Shaw said.

“Say what, sweetie?” 


	179. Hi

_Hi_ was one of the more irritatingly generic tattoos. Root had it on her chest, so she’d decided her soulmate deserved the same treatment.

Besides, part of the idea appealed to her. She’d read the statistic somewhere, something like 2.4% of people had _hi_ or whatever the equivalent was in their language tattooed. The second most common tattoo didn’t even hit 0.01%.

“Hi there!”

“Hi,” Root said, absently.

So, this way, she’d have far more potential soulmates than most people.

She couldn’t say exactly why she did it. Root would admit, sometimes she did things just because they felt clever.

Still, there were plenty of options. If she met her soulmate, and didn’t like them, she could walk on by. That was meant to be unlikely, though. If nothing else she had more of a choice.

She’d already met a couple of potential soulmates. There was Hanna, and there was a fellow hacker she’d met briefly. Root had considered her, for a bit.

It was tempting. They’d had a lot in common, after all, and the few exploits they shared just showed they were a good team. Root just expected more of a click, somehow.

The idea was always in the back of her mind, regardless.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Root slowed for a moment, as she usually did whenever she got that kind of second glance. It usually meant she’d said the right words.

She took a moment to regard the woman. Soon, Root offered a smile.

“Well hello there,” Root said.

“Don’t start,” the woman said, recognizing Root’s tone. “If you think we’re soulmates just because I said hi-”

“I don’t,” Root said. “Most common tattoo, after all. But it’s possible.”

She paused.

“I’m Root,” she said, moving closer and offering a hand.

“Shaw,” the woman said, eyeing Root’s hand. “You’re not going to make it something it’s not?”

“Something it _might_ not be,” Root said.

The woman turned to walk away. Chuckling, Root started walking alongside her.

“Just saying,” Root said. “We get to choose. Pursue, or don’t, because there’s probably someone else out there.”

They kept walking.

“Met any potential soulmates?” Root said.

“One,” Shaw said, shortly.

“How’d it go with her?”

“With him,” Shaw said, and shrugged. “Not bothered.”

“What do you do?” Root said.

“Security work,” Shaw said. “Why do you care?”

“Just curious,” Root said. “Have to know if we’ll fit.”

“And when we don’t?”

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” Root said. “That’s the whole point. We get to choose, one way or the other. I’d rather give it a go, rather than giving up right away, though.”

Shaw sighed. They kept going for a few more steps, though, without Shaw suggesting Root go away.

“And you, then?” Shaw said. “What do you do?”

“Nothing legal,” Root said cheerily. “Hope that’s not a dealbreaker.”

Shaw snorted, without replying. Still, she seemed a little happier to be alongside Root.


	180. What The Hell Are You Doing Here? 4

Shaw had made a good pick of painting. It was valuable enough to be worth stealing and fencing, but not valuable enough that the security around it was absurd.

Root got to work quickly. She spent as few days as she could casing the building, both stealing a copy of the guards’ timetables and watching to see how the guards would normally act. She checked blueprints of the building, to find the easiest route to and from the painting, and she wandered around the neighbourhood to find a good parking spot.

Normally she was more comfortable taking longer to prepare, but this was a race. She could cope with a little risk.

She bribed a guard to let her in on one day, before arriving the day before through the other side of the building. She’d gone in while the display was open, and found a hiding place on the roof.

Carefully, Root moved through the corridors. She peered around corners, relying on her memorized timetables and observations, taking a long, circuitous route to the painting.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she got to the right room, finding it empty, and the painting still hanging where it was.

Root had just gotten to it, pulling on the frame, when she heard the door open again. She span around-

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Shaw said, flatly.

Root peered over the top of the frame, blinking a little self-consciously. She grinned, the effect ruined only by the painting in her hands, large enough to hide the bottom half of her face.

“Hey sweetie,” Root said.

“Why are you here?”

“Our bet, remember?” Root said.

“ _Today_?”

“It was a good day, and I finished casing,” Root said. “You too, huh?”

Shaw glared.

“Great minds think alike,” Root said. “At least we’ve got that in common.”

Bouncing slightly, Root moved for the door. Shaw wouldn’t fight her for the painting, not in here. Even if it wasn’t for the danger of making too much noise and attracting the guards, neither of them wanted to damage the painting.

Shaw nonetheless kept close behind Root, keeping an eye on her, and preparing for any openings.

“So, what kind of meal do you like?” Root said. “Italian’s always good.”

“What?”

“Our date,” Root said. “I’ve got the painting, so I’ll win.”

“Not out yet.”

“But for after,” Root said. “Always better to plan ahead.”

Shaw said nothing.

“Any allergies?”

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw said.

“What?”

“Do you not know how sneaking works?”

“Just trying to help,” Root said. “You lose the bet, and then get an allergic reaction on the date, no one wants that. You should put more thought into things like that.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

She grabbed Root’s shoulder rather firmly before they could turn a corner, mouthing ‘guard.’ Root stopped at once, pausing until she heard the sound of a footstep.

Ok, she’d been a little distracted. It was hard not to be.

After thirty seconds or so, Root peered around the corner. The guard seemed to have moved on. They started moving again.

“So, have you thought about it?” Root said, much more quietly.

“What now?” Shaw said.

“What you’ll ask for if you win,” Root said. “Which won’t happen, but still. It’s a blank cheque, you can be imaginative.”

They edged down a corridor, Root stopping at a staircase. She fiddled for a moment with a rope at her waist, before looking at the narrow gap available for her to descend.

She didn’t want to take the stairs, it would be far too easy to be caught as the staircases down moved in full view of multiple floors. There was a set of supports that would conceal the rope from most angles, it just left quite a narrow gap to bring the painting down.

Then again, tilt it to an awkward angle, hold tight…

“Well?” Root said, while she was thinking.

“I’ll decide after,” Shaw said. “Some of us prioritise.”

“No harm in multitasking,” Root said. “Have a good think. Any wish, any fantasy you want.”

Root glanced back, smirking. It took Shaw a moment.

“ _No_ ,” Shaw said.

“At least think it over,” Root pouted. “I’m hurt. Nothing I can do for you?”

Shaw glared. When she thought Root wasn’t looking, though, her expression became contemplative.

Root smiled back, craning her neck to look back down the gap. She fixed her rope to the railing, before lowering the rest of it slowly and quietly.

“So, you won’t help me plan a date,” Root said. “Is that it?”

“Can you please focus?”

“It’s for your own good,” Root said. “May as well do something. Not even thought about what you want if you win?”

“Been over this.”

“And it was just as insulting then,” Root said.

She bent over the railings, ostensibly to check how far her rope had gone, but also giving Shaw a less than subtle view. After a moment, she turned her head back and smirked.

“Sure you don’t have any ideas?” Root said.

She stood up, straighter. When Shaw continued to glare, Root chuckled, and half-threw the painting to her.

Shaw stumbled slightly to catch it, before looking incredulously to Root.

“What are you doing _now_?” Shaw said.

“Helping,” Root said. “Sounds like our date’s not going to be much fun, especially if you’re going to mope, so I figure I’ll let you win. Has the potential to be more enjoyable.”

“Really?” Shaw said, raising her eyebrows.

“If we’re soulmates, you must have a fun wish in mind,” Root said.

Shaw snorted. Root chuckled.

“And good luck getting out,” Root said, before vaulting over the railings, and sliding down the rope with much more speed than she would have had otherwise.


	181. Snack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a series of requested AUs made about this point, if memory serves. This and the next three non-sequels were just given as potential settings.

Shaw did _not_ like soulmates. She was opposed to pretty much every aspect of the whole idea. As far as she was concerned, there were no possible redeeming features to the notion.

Even supposing she was capable of feeling like that, which she wasn’t, the concept had no merit. A few words on a tattoo wouldn’t create a connection to someone, that kind of closeness took effort, and if she was going to put effort into it she could have it with anyone.

So what was the point?

She was walking home, when she caught sight of a small-ish deli by the side of the street. Well, it had been a long day.

Shaw wandered up, peering in the window. As soon as she saw that it was relatively quiet she went inside, taking the time to scan the menu.

“Hello there! What would you like?”

There was a dark-haired woman on the far side of a clear case of ingredients. Shaw did her best to hide her reaction, only briefly glimpsing the woman’s name-tag (‘Root’).

For a moment, she considered shaking her head and leaving. She’d never planned to spend much time with her soulmate.

Hunger won out.

“Just a snack, give me a moment,” Shaw said. After a few seconds, she picked three fillings for a sandwich, and the bread she wanted, before moving to the till.

She did her best to ignore how Root started looking at her as soon as she spoke. Maybe feigning disinterest would make Root think it was a false positive.

It didn’t take too long for Root to design and serve up the sandwich, along with a coffee. She handed them both to Shaw, and Shaw took them, before rather hastily heading to a table by the far wall.

She ate in silence.

It was a pretty good deli. Good setting, a nice variety, and the sandwich certainly tasted good.

Pity she’d probably never come back. As she ate, Shaw cast a few sideways glimpses to the woman behind the counter, as she continued serving and preparing snacks.

Root glanced back in term. She wasn’t being as subtle about it as Shaw, though; after all, it was her job to look over her customers.

Shaw finished her sandwich and sat back. Even after finishing her coffee, it was a few seconds before she moved. Root hadn’t asked her to pay when she’d bought the snack, presumably out of surprise, so it would be fair to pay again now.

It took a little convincing for her to bother getting up, and approaching her soulmate, though.

“Hey?” Shaw said, once no one else was buying snacks.

“Hey sweetie,” Root said, turning and smiling. Shaw bit back a scowl.

“Just wanted to settle up,” Shaw said. “You didn’t charge me before.”

“I know,” Root said. “On the house.”

“What?”

“It’s free,” Root said. “Don’t worry about paying.”

Shaw hesitated. Ok, she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but she was instinctively wary when it came to soulmates.

“Why?” Shaw said.

“Saw how you jumped when I greeted you,” Root said, “And I heard what you said, so you have to know we’re soulmates. Call it a discount.”

“I get free food?”

“Sure,” Root said. “You know what soulmates are meant to be like, so it’s only fair. Maybe it’ll encourage you to come back sooner.”

Root beamed. Shaw blinked.

“Ok,” Shaw said, slowly. Then, hesitating: “Thanks.”

Maybe she could get used to this soulmate thing after all.


	182. Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this one's a requested pet shop AU.

Root’s favourite thing about working at the pet shop was looking after the animals. There were rabbits, guinea pigs, kittens, puppies, birds, and a whole host of more esoteric pets.

It was only helped by the fact they had good ties to an animal sanctuary. Some animals spent a fair amount of time in each place, to encourage more people to look after them.

Root’s favourite was a Malinois she’d called Bear. He’d been left at the sanctuary a while ago, and now spent a fair bit of time at the adjacent pet shop.

Normally just being able to pet and look after the animals after closing was enough, but Bear was different. Root didn’t like to get too attached to the animals as, after all, they were being sold, but Bear was the exception.

Most people that came to the shop were looking for puppies, or something like that; an animal for their kid, or something they could raise. Not many people wanted an already-big and mildly threatening-looking dog.

He was a sweetie, though. Root dipped into the stock of dog food and biscuits to treat him throughout the day, and he always found his way back to her.

After giving him a brief hug, Root managed to go back to work. He stayed behind, chewing on his favourite bone.

Walking through the shop, Root caught sight of a new customer standing by the birds. She was eyeing them carefully.

“Hey there,” Root said, “Want a parrot?”

The woman turned slightly, regarding Root with some small measure of surprise.

“God no, just looking for some company that doesn’t talk,” the woman said.

Root raised her eyebrows. Ok, soulmate. It took her a moment to steady herself, by which time the woman was already talking.

“That includes you,” she said. “Don’t make this into something else. I want a pet, that’s it.”

“Pretty kinky.”

The woman rolled her eyes, and paced away. Chuckling to herself, Root turned away. Well, she was bound to meet her soulmate again, according to the stories.

It was the end of the day when she noticed that Bear’s area was empty. Hurriedly, she went to talk to her boss, before checking the ledger.       

Sure, maybe she should have been prepared for the day he was sold, but she wasn’t. Somehow she’d convinced herself it wouldn’t happen, given how little interest there was in grown animals.

According to the ledger he’d been given to Sameen Shaw. There was an address marked; part of their deal with the animal sanctuary, to occasionally send people to check that the pets had gone to a good home.

Root deliberated for a little while, before deciding to volunteer to check up on him. Whoever Shaw was, Root wanted to be sure Bear had a good life. Plus she was already missing him.

On her day off, she picked up a pack of Bear’s favourite treats, and noted down Shaw’s address. She immediately went there.

Apparently Bear sensed her as almost as soon she neared the house, Bear ran out. Chuckling, Root crouched, ruffling the fur of his neck as he enthusiastically panted.

“Oh, great. You.”

Root distractedly looked up from Bear, the voice vaguely familiar. She caught sight of the woman who’d been at the pet shop, and who apparently was her soulmate.

It was the kind of moment that probably should have been more dramatic. Instead, Bear was trying to lick her face.

“You’re Shaw?” Root said, a little off-guard.

Carefully, she stood up. Bear whined a little, missing the attention, before turning and running back to Shaw. She, at least, took a moment to pet him before looking back to Root.

“You’re the one that followed me here,” Shaw said.

“What? No,” Root said. “I followed the dog.”

Shaw blinked. “The _dog_?”

“Bear,” Root said. “We spent a lot of time together. Before you stole him.”

“He’s my dog,” Shaw said. She stayed crouched, scratching his neck, and glaring somewhat protectively over to Root.

“Wasn’t always,” Root said.

Root lifted the bag of biscuits she’d brought, shaking it slightly. Bear immediately bounded over to her, gratefully swallowing the first one she offered.

“He likes these biscuits,” Root said. “And I can bring his favourite toys over, if that’ll help.”

Shaw was staring. Somehow, Root convinced Bear to turn and face her, with a suitably pleading look in his eyes. Shaw snorted.

“Fine,” Shaw said. “Leave a list of what he likes.”

“And,” Root said, and hesitated.

“And what?”

“Can I visit?” Root said. “Just to check up on him. Make sure he isn’t missing me.”

“I’m perfectly capable of looking after a dog.”

Root pouted. Shaw groaned.

“ _Fine_ ,” Shaw said. “Just call me in advance. And it’s just for Bear.”

“I know,” Root said, brightly, hugging him.


	183. Wasn’t Expecting to Run Into You Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request!

There was so much work that could be done in the cold. The way biological organisms like plants and bacteria reacted, the properties of ice with respect to various things… All things considered, it was much easier to do when somewhere cold.

That was why Shaw liked Antarctica. She’d been assigned to a research base a good few months ago, way out over the ice.

If she peered outside, there was just an endless plain of white as far as she could see. The sky was black constantly, and it was quiet.

She had been part of a small team, but they’d been reassigned a couple of days ago, shipped out elsewhere. That left Shaw behind.

There was something special about the silence. No other human being for miles, no need to be self-conscious, no reason to get annoyed. It was peaceful.

She knew it wouldn’t last, there were protocols, there had to be more than one person on the base at all times. They could be a little lax about enforcing it, but Shaw knew well enough she’d be sent at least one partner sometime soon.

She enjoyed the time she had, anyway. She checked on the projects ongoing in one room, made sure marked out squares of ice were still visible, and kept a note of the daily snowfall.

When that was done she went back inside, sealing the door and shrugging off the thick, furred coat. She hated wearing that when inside; one of these days she hoped to adjust fully to the cold.

Night didn’t really fall. She hadn’t seen the Sun for most of the year. Still, she had a clock kept synchronized with New York, to keep roughly the same time zone as the people she was meant to stay in contact with.

She was caught slightly by surprise when the door opened one day, and a woman bundled up in jackets and overalls, with a fairly large pack, stumbled inside. She waved off whatever group had taken her there, before shutting the door.

Presumably the ones who’d transported her there would stay at one of the other camps. Shaw knew they were there, in theory, but hadn’t seen much of them.

“You must be Root,” Shaw said.

She walked out, offering a hand. It seemed fair enough to introduce herself.

She wasn’t expecting Root to jump so suddenly, scattering flakes of snow onto the floor, and making Shaw flinch and back away to avoid them.

“Wasn’t expecting to run into you here,” Root said. She pulled off her jacket. “They said you were… Shaw, right?”

“They must’ve told you I was here, then.”

“I knew there’d be someone here,” Root said. She paused for a moment. “Wait, I thought we were soulmates?”

“Because I knew your name?” Shaw said. “Others must have said that to you.”

“Not really,” Root said. “Not those exact words. So, your tattoo?”

“Different,” Shaw lied.

Soulmates were trouble. When her soulmate was the only person she’d see for months, that went beyond trouble. May as well avoid the problem.

Besides, there was no excuse to wear tattoo-bearing clothing in the middle of the Antarctic. Anything less than five layers of clothing might as well be suicide.

It went well enough for a week or so. Even thinking they weren’t soulmates, Root could be a bit flirtatious, but at least she got the job done. There were worse people to be stuck with.

And then the main generator got damaged. Shaw wrapped up extra warm, fitting goggles, before heading outside with a torch to check the damage.

It looked like hail damage; something heavier had fallen at just the wrong angle. It was meant to be a resilient device, but everything had a weakness.

“What’s the verdict?” Root said, as Shaw went back inside.

“We’ll need a few more parts to fix it,” Shaw said. “We prioritized what replacements to bring, that wasn’t meant to get damaged.”

“Any improvisation?”

“Nothing I feel comfortable doing until the weather gets a lot better,” Shaw said. “Which it doesn’t.”

“Don’t be a pessimist.”

“I’ve been here longer than you, take it from me,” Shaw said. She sighed. “There’s a couple of space heaters in storage. I’d suggest using one at a time to save on power.”

“So,” Root said, slowly. “Basically, we’re going to be roomies.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

Even that went well, though. They spent what time they could in the smaller bedroom available; the base was designed for several teams, but at this time of year it could get away with minimal staffing.

When they went out that room, they dressed as though they were heading outside. The temperature left a lot to be desired. The heater in their now-shared room, though, at least meant they had somewhere to go back to.

And, yes, it went well. For about three hours.

Then it was evening, and Shaw changed to her sleepwear, hurrying to switch clothes. It was important to change fairly often there, to avoid illnesses that could arise from a lack of hygiene. She’d just managed to change her top when-

“I _knew_ it,” Root said, watching shamelessly from her bed.

Shaw hurriedly pulled a thicker top on, covering herself. It had been so long, she’d almost forgotten that Root would recognize her tattoo.

“Don’t be shy sweetie,” Root said, happily. “I’m the only person for miles, we’ve got to talk sometime.”

“Not about this,” Shaw said.

“Why?” Root said. “I can think of some advantages.”

“Don’t start.”

“I was just going to suggest spooning,” Root said. “Body heat’s important, you know. Might as well cuddle with your soulmate.”

Shaw slumped onto her own bed, sighing.

She tried to sleep for almost an hour, before relenting, and getting up. Silently and quickly she crossed the floor, before sliding into Root’s bed.

Root didn’t make a sound, just shifting to allow her access.

“Just tonight,” Shaw said. “It’s cold.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie.”


	184. Miss Root 2

Gen was worried. No one at school had mentioned anything yet, but it could only be a matter of time.

She’d noticed that her mother went in after hours on most days, and always seemed to talk to Root. There weren’t many good reasons for a parent to talk to a teacher.

Usually, Gen stayed in the car. Occasionally, when worry became too much, she followed her mother. She’d read a lot of her mother’s military books, so as far as surveilling went, she was easily better than most people her age; probably better than most people generally.

That was how she noticed that her mother nearly always went to Root’s room. Sometimes they both left Root’s room not long after, and Gen had to hurry back to the car because empty corridors weren’t a good setting for following, but they always started off there.

Gen didn’t get too close, afraid the door might open, or that she’d be seen, but she could still tell some of what happened.

There was the occasional, indistinct raised voice. Both of them seemed to shout, at various points. Whatever had gotten them angry, Gen couldn’t tell, but she did see her mother looking red with what had to be frustration when she got back to the car.

Her mother didn’t say anything. She didn’t say why she had those meetings, beyond a handwaved need for discussion. Root never brought them up in class, either.

Gen knew she was meant to focus on her book in the car, when they were meeting, but it was hard.

“Did I do something wrong?” Gen said, when her mother came back to the car.

“What?” her mother said.

She seemed genuinely confused. That was probably a good sign, Gen thought.

“You’re always talking to my teacher,” Gen said. “Almost every day. And you always come back looking angry.”

“I do?” her mother said. She hesitated, before glancing in a wing mirror. “Uh, right.”

Gen hesitated. After a moment, she looked down.

“I followed you,” she said, quickly.

“You did?” her mother said. Suddenly, her voice was urgent. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” Gen said. “I never went close to the room, but I always saw you going to see her, after everyone was gone. And I heard you shouting, sometimes. You swore at her.”

Her mother breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s nothing,” her mother said. “We don’t talk about you, I promise.”

“I saw you go to the headteacher’s office,” Gen said.

“We- Where’s that one?”

“Down the hall,” Gen said, “Near the hall parent-teacher nights are in.”

“That one?” her mother said. She paused, before nodding appreciatively. “Root insisted we take our… talk there. Just for the setting. Believe me, the headteacher wasn’t in there.”

Gen paused. She looked at her mother, not quite sure what to say. Maybe she could worry a bit too much, but it had seemed like something was happening.

But they were just… talking?

“What were you talking about?” Gen said.

Her mother coughed. “It’s personal.”

“Mom?”

“We’ll tell you later,” her mother said. “Eight years later, let’s say.” Then, before Gen could protest; “It’s nothing to do with you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”


	185. Recommendations

Shaw wandered between the shelves. Maybe you weren’t meant to judge a book by its cover, but it was certainly the easiest way.

Some covers were a bit too showy. She didn’t know what some of the illustrators were thinking, honestly. She preferred the more minimalist designs.

She reached out for once, skimming the back cover. That one didn’t seem too interesting. Sighing, she put it back.

It just wasn’t possible to read all the blurbs, so she only picked up ones which didn’t make her cringe to look at.

She had a long plane journey planned in a couple of days. She liked bringing a good read with her; just sit back and get through the book, and hopefully there wouldn’t be too much of the journey left.

“Need any recommendations?”

A woman came up behind her. Shaw turned, slightly, eyes only briefly glancing at her.

She didn’t have a high opinion of those words. Her gaze didn’t linger on her apparently-soulmate.

“Not from you,” Shaw said.

She went back to looking at the shelves, pacing across. Every few seconds her eyes drifted sideways, to notice the woman still following her.

Shaw picked up another, reading the back cover. Her soulmate made a noise of distaste; Shaw would have bought the book then, on principle, if not for the fact she had to agree. It didn’t sound that good.

Wearily she put the book back. A sideways glance confirmed her soulmate seemed pleased.

She’d gotten a few more metres before sighing, and turning back around.

“Look,” Shaw began, “Whoever you are-”

“Root.”

“ _Root_ ,” she said. “I don’t want your help, I don’t need your judgement. I just want a book, that’s it.”

“If you don’t want judgement, don’t pick those books,” Root said.

“I can’t tell if they’re bad without-”

“You could ask,” Root said, brightly.

Shaw sighed. She stared at Root for a long few seconds, before wearily slumping.

“ _Fine_ ,” she said. “Will you shut up if I let you help?”

“Sure.”

“Then _fine_ ,” Shaw said.

Root’s face cracked into a grin, and she grabbed Shaw by the wrist, dragging her through the shop. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Fantasy or sci-fi?” Root said, as they reached a different corner.

“Excuse me?”

“Most people have a preference,” Root said. “Which is yours?”

Shaw shrugged.

“Both ways huh?” Root said. “Ok, you’ve got to start with Le Guin. Maybe Asimov, a little dated, but classics for a reason.”

She was picking books off the shelves easily. Shaw raised her eyebrows, less than convinced; after a moment, Root looked back at her.

“Ok, you look like you could be a Mieville fan,” Root said. “I’ll add a couple. And- ooh! More Le Guin.”

She pulled another volume off a shelf. Shaw started walking away, only to be interrupted Root. Somehow she managed to hurry in front of Shaw, despite carrying a small mountain of books.

“This’ll be a good start,” Root said. “Let me know what you think. And which ones you like. You’re still missing a lot of good authors.”

“Really?” Shaw said, exasperated.

“What’s wrong?”

“I needed _one_ book,” Shaw said.

Root paused. She glanced at the pile she was holding.

“You sure?” she said. “Hard to pick just one.”

There was a pause; then Shaw groaned.

“Fine,” she said, sighing. “Bring them to the till. You can carry.”

Root grinned, and kept close behind her.


	186. Going To Go Badly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request!

_1912_

Shaw stood by the edge of the ship, hands on the railings, and looked out over the sea. She inhaled the scent of salt.

It took nearly a week to sail to New York, but it was a city she’d always wanted to see. It had been hard enough to get tickets for this journey, but she’d managed.

So far, they’d been three days out at sea.

It could be a bit noisy and crowded on deck, but they served drinks, so that helped take the edge off.

Shaw wandered back from the railings, taking a chair that was out on the deck. It was too early for music, but the atmosphere was nice.

The cruise might as well have been another world. They had no way of knowing what was going on, on the land, and no real connection to anything off the ship. Just her, and over a thousand other people.

She waved to one of the waiters, taking a glass from his tray when he approached. Now that was much better.

The one downside to this little world was that people always wanted to mingle. If she didn’t like the ambience on deck so much, she wouldn’t leave her room.

“Good taste,” a woman said, sitting down beside her. “I’m Root. What brings you aboard?”

Any other trip, that would’ve ruined it. Shaw sighed, putting her drink down. So she was stuck on an ocean liner with her soulmate.

“This is going to go badly,” Shaw said, wearily.

She turned, to face Root, and Root started grinning.

“Glad you have such high hopes for us,” Root said.

“There’s no us.”

“Give it time,” Root said. “Only just met.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shaw said. After a moment, she sighed. “I don’t feel.”

“Like I said, give it time.”

“I mean, ever,” Shaw said. “It just doesn’t happen for me. So don’t go expecting anything.”

Root shifted in her chair. She eyed Shaw contemplatively, the smile still not quite leaving her face.

“So,” Root said, “What you’re saying is, you won’t love me.”

“Exactly.”

“What about dislike?” Root said.

“What?”

“Could you hate me?” Root said. “I mean, if you don’t feel, then stands to reason. Can’t like, can’t hate. So, basically I can annoy you as much as I want, and it won’t change your opinion of me.”

Really, that was where her mind went? Shaw groaned.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Shaw said.

“It doesn’t?” Root pouted.

“It’s more like… it doesn’t bother me,” Shaw said. “I wouldn’t feel that bad about throwing my soulmate off the side of the ship, for example.”

“What about someone else?” Root said.

“What now?”

“Would you throw someone else off the ship?” Root said. “Especially a couple of the higher-class ones, they’re pains.”

Despite herself, Shaw snorted. It did figure that her soulmate would immediately default to plotting murder.

As the sky darkened, a few violinists made their way onto the deck. The brief chaos of their arrival interrupted Root and Shaw’s conversation. The rest of the musicians arrived shortly after, accompanied by one of the officers. Second Officer Martine Rosseau, by the look of the uniform.

“Like her,” Root murmured to Shaw.

Shaw snorted to herself. Most of the crew was bearable, but Martine less so.

She walked in front of the musicians as they set up, turning to address the waiting audience.

“I hope all of you are enjoying your cruise,” Martine said. “Now, to begin the evening, music. I hope you all continue to have a good time on the maiden voyage of the RMS Titanic.”

She turned, and walked away, just as the band started playing. Root leaned over to Shaw, again.

“So, can I convince you to push her off?” Root said.

“She is a pain,” Shaw said. “Maybe.”

“We hate the same people,” Root said, delighted. “Must be soulmates.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, and returned to her drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll be a three-parter.


	187. Going To Go Badly 2

A sudden, shrieking crash woke Shaw up. She elbowed Root in the face, just as Root jerked up.

“Do I want to know what that is?” Root said.

“Nothing good,” she said. “Get dressed.”

“Spoilsport.”

Shaw couldn’t really say how they’d ended up there. One moment they were bonding over misanthropy, and the next they were managing to get back to Shaw’s cabin (the nearest) in between pinning one another to the walls.

Ok, maybe she’d been a little hasty when it came to the whole soulmate thing. It had promise.

About a minute later and they’d hurried outside, joining a huddle of people out on deck. Only barely visible in the light from the ship, some way behind them now, was an iceberg.

“Were we hit?” Root said urgently, to Shaw.

“Looks it,” Shaw said.

There were people screaming, and crew members hurrying around, desperately shouting to one another. Martine was visible, relaying orders.

It wasn’t too much longer before word got out; the Titanic was taking on water. There was no way it was going to stay floating.

“To the lifeboats!” one of the crew shouted.

And the crowd surged. Instinctively, Root gripped onto Shaw’s hand, the two of them pulled along in the tide of people.

There was the sound of gunfire as a crewmember shot into the air, in a desperate plea for calm. This wasn’t the time for orderly behaviour, though.

Root led the two of them slightly closer, only for Shaw to tug her hand out of Root’s grasp. Baffled, Root glanced back.

“What are you doing?” Root said, raising her voice to be heard over the tumult.

“Helping,” Shaw said.

“On a sinking ship?!”

“Not everyone would have heard,” Shaw said. “And some people might be trapped. Iceberg must have done a lot of damage.”

“Let others do that,” Root said. “Doesn’t look like there are nearly enough lifeboats, better get there sooner rather than later.”

“Go, then,” Shaw said.

“Really?” Root said, exasperated. “Sinking ship doesn’t sound the best place to linger.”

“No one’s making you.”

Beyond the hopeful, there was another interpretation of soulmates: they meant mortality. If everyone had first words from their soulmate, then they couldn’t die until the moment they met them.

That thought didn’t leave Root’s mind.

Neither did the fact Shaw apparently didn’t feel like most people; she wouldn’t be scared, nor would she be sympathetic. She was just doing this, well, because.

It was maddening.

“Fine,” Root said. “Good luck. Try not to die.”

Shaw shrugged.

And Shaw turned away from her, hurrying in the opposite direction to most of the crowd. With a last look at Shaw, Root turned and headed for the lifeboats.

She’d done a stint in the military, she was used to risking her life to help others. A ship scared her less than a few other things she’d seen.

She could run down all the inhabited hallways, knocking on doors; make sure everyone was awake, and knew what was happening. She could help the crew keep order. She could head to the lower decks, as they got flooded; she was a pretty good swimmer, even if the water was cold.

There was no point in leaving when there was still more she could do here.

Somehow the musicians were still playing.

* * *

Root sat on her seat on the lifeboat. Martine sat a few seats across from her, apparently having decided there was no more purpose to her being on the ship.

They were hurriedly moved away from the Titanic, knowing not to be nearly a ship as it sank else they’d be caught and dragged down too. Root couldn’t tear her eyes from it though.

Even if it hadn’t been long, she knew Shaw well enough to think she wouldn’t have left. With all the people that needed help, more people than could be helped, there was nothing to make her leave.

Root stared, as the great vessel slowly tipped, prow lifting from the vast sea and reaching up into the air. Screams were still audible as slowly, far too slowly, it sank.


	188. Going To Go Badly 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third and final part!

“We’ve got to go back,” someone on Root’s lifeboat said. “There could still be people…”

“If anyone’s still alive, we can’t go back. They’d capsize us, and we’d…”

“There’s plenty of room still on the lifeboat. If we just squeeze up…”

“We could still sink.”

“What if they try to steal our places? I don’t want to d-”

“We’re keeping on course,” Martine said, authoritatively. “We’re not going back. People would have gotten on lifeboats. If they didn’t, it’s their bad luck.”

There was a pause in the sudden debate. With how confidently Martine spoke, it took a moment before anyone wanted to go against her.

“We should turn back,” Root said.

Martine turned to face her, coldly. Root’s eyes only occasionally darted to the now-debris-littered sea. _Her soulmate might be out there_.

Damn it, she shouldn’t have left. She wasn’t going to stick around on a sinking ship, but maybe she could have convinced Shaw. Maybe she should have tried more, or-

At least she could do something now.

“And what of the people on this lifeboat?” Martine said.

“You don’t think there’s enough room?” Root said.

She smiled at Martine. A few seconds later, there was a splash, and Root sat down in a now-vacated seat.

“Anyone else want to help with making room?” Root said, brightly.

* * *

Shaw shivered. The ocean was as cold as it was dark, and no matter how she curled up or positioned herself, she couldn’t quite shake off the chill.

She’d done what she could aboard the ship. A few people had needed alerting as to what was going on, and plenty were trapped on the lower decks. There had been a lot of damage done by the iceberg.

When the ship had started tilting, she’d been inside. It had made it easier to keep from falling, she’d only gone a short way before hitting a wall, but then the struggle had been jumping out the window.

She’d gotten out just before hitting sea level, and had started kicking herself away from the ship as best she could. Of the various trivia she’d picked up, she knew it was a bad idea to be around a sinking ship. As it went down, it would pull its surroundings with it.

She found part of the ship that had been knocked off from the collision with the iceberg, and had pulled herself up onto it, but by then she was still soaked through.

She turned over, trying to keep as much of herself out of the water as she could. Still, it was night, and the heat of the Sun was a long, long way away.

“Is anyone alive out there?!”

A shouted voice pierced the night. Shaw jerked up; it was easily audible over the splashing of the waves.

Was that-

“Shaw!”

Shaw shifted, the driftwood under her wobbling precariously as she did so. She squinted, trying to making out what little she could.

“Root!” Shaw shouted.

She lifted her hands to wave, before quickly lowering one to redistribute her weight.

“Shaw?”

“Root!”

Her voice cracked slightly. She started kicking at the water, sending up foam. The sudden splashes were all the more audible, and Shaw caught sight of a lifeboat heading towards her.

She waved again, calling out Root’s name, only to slump as the lifeboat neared. Still shivering, she was pulled aboard, and she felt Root wrap herself around her.

“Got you,” Root murmured.

Shaw’s teeth chattered. She shifted where she was, biting off a retort. For a few moments though, she was content to just lie there.


	189. Give Up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few historical AUs were requested a while ago. The others won't be up for a while, I wrote them later, but Roman AU's up first.

Shaw strode into the arena, barely paying attention to the crowds. That wasn’t why she was here.

Gladiator fighting was an odd sport; as popular as it was, it might as well have been social suicide to participate in the games. Then again, you could volunteer if you really wanted to.

Shaw had, several years ago now. It was something she was good at.

She ignored the roar of the crowd, watching the far side of the arena, as the dimachaerus emerged. Shaw turned her lip up, slightly.

Dimachaerus wielded a blade in each hand; Shaw was never a fan of that. Dual-wielding looked more pretentious than anything. Still, she’d admit, as the gladiatrix crossed the arena, that one pulled it off.

They were better known for speed; they wore little armour, relying more on increased agility to win a fight.

Shaw, meanwhile, was a scissor. She had slightly more armour, and a different, two-bladed sword as a weapon. It was unusual, but that was her advantage; her fighting style usually took people by surprise.

She only half-listened to the introductory shouting. Apparently her opponent went by the name Root.

Then it began. They neared, just circling one another warily, to begin with.

Shaw liked that part of a fight; the tension, the suspense. Sooner or later one of them would leap, and no one knew who. The audience were quieter than they were at any other stage of a match-up, waiting.

“Give up?” Root said.

Shaw stumbled only slightly, caught off-guard. Root took that opportunity, leaping-

Shaw parried each dagger, catching one between her scissor-blade, and pushing upwards until it went flying out of Root’s hands, spinning out over the arena’s floor.

Root took a hasty step back.

“Didn’t expect you to trip so soon,” Root said. “You’re meant to be good, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t her fault. Shaw scowled; no one expected to run into their soulmate at a random moment, and ending up fighting her was even more of a surprise.

Shaw’s eyes darted sideways. Losing one of two weapons wasn’t too dangerous; it could be beneficial, in fact. It gave your enemy a false sense of security, while you could focus. Root was still pretty well off.

Maybe Shaw could use this.

“You’re the one missing a weapon,” Shaw said.

Root’s eyes widened, and in that instant of surprise Shaw lunged. Root just managed to push the blade off, before ducking under a swipe, and skipping back away.

Flexible. Ok. Shaw tried to focus on Root as an opponent, rather than a soulmate. Her rather revealing garb would be far too distracting otherwise.

“Dirty trick,” Root said. She beamed. “I like it, can see why we’re soulmates.”

“Shut up.”

Shaw leapt again. Root was laughing now, even as she struggled to evade and fend off the blows.

Maybe Shaw should have been a bit less eager to fight her soulmate. Then again, she’d always had different priorities to a lot of people, and she did appreciate the clang of metal, and grunts of exertion.

Somewhere along the way Root had guided the duel until she was closer to where her first blade had been dropped. She ducked to pick it up-

And in the moment she did so, Shaw whirled her blade, and pinned Root to the ground, the V of the blade either side of her neck. Root stiffened slightly as she felt the cool metal.

Shaw snorted. That was the problem with dual-wielding.

She panted for a long few seconds, resting most of her weight on the blade, careful with how she wedged it against the ground. If she shifted angle, she could push it lower, but that wouldn’t go well for Root.

It had been a long fight, and a good one. Weary, Shaw looked up.

The crowd was cheering, and despite herself Shaw was a little pleased to see the gesture for Root to live. Evidently she’d impressed.

Shaw took a step back, withdrawing her weapon.

“Not too bad,” Root said, standing up.

Shaw rolled her eyes.

It was a while before Shaw’s day was completely over, and she retired back to her quarters. While a lot of gladiators didn’t have the best homes, the more respected ones got certain perks.

Given how long it had been since she’d lost, Shaw was definitely counted among the more respected gladiators.

“Hey,” Shaw said, gesturing to one of the general servants. A small troupe of them helped look after the gladiatrices that lived around that area. “That woman I fought. Root. Could you make sure she was brought here?”

When you’d accumulated a certain amount of respect, people happily granted favours. Shaw returned to her quarters, and waited.

It was only a few minutes before Root arrived. It was different, seeing her out of the arena; she’d wiped off much of the grime, and she had a chance to do more than glare.

“Got here as fast as I could,” Root said, slightly breathlessly.

“About time,” Shaw said. “I-”

Shaw hesitated as Root started loosening her tunic.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Shaw said.

“What?” Root said, slowing. “Elite gladiators get… gratification, and you invite someone to your quarters after a fight, that someone’s your soulmate-”

“Firstly, I don’t,” Shaw said. “Second, there are people for that, not other gladiators.”

“So?” Root said. “Always exceptions.”

“I wanted to _talk_ ,” Shaw said, firmly.

There was a pause. Root pouted.

“You’re sure?” Root said.

“Yes.”

“Sure?” Root said, again.

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Can I convince you to change your mind?”


	190. One of Them 4

Root found out where Shaw lived. It was easy enough; everyone was insisting she stay away from a certain street and address, so naturally enough Root went straight there.

Shaw wasn’t there when she arrived. Root had thrown stones through the window for a good couple of minutes before realizing that.

It was then Root decided to try and sneak in. it was only fair; Shaw ended up in her room a lot of the time.

Besides, though Shaw’s room wasn’t on the ground floor, it wasn’t quite as high as Root’s. Root did need a brief boost, but she managed to get her hands over the window-ledge, and to pull herself inside.

She sat down on a chair behind the door, just in case Shaw’s guardians came in first. Then, she waited.

It was about ten minutes before she heard Shaw come back home. Root smiled happily to herself, waiting patiently.

Shaw said something muffled to her parents, before climbing up the stairs. She walked straight into her room, closed the door behind her, and-

“Root?!”

“Hey sweetie,” Root said.

“What are you doing here?” Shaw said.

“I figure, we’re always tormenting my parents,” Root said. She shrugged. “Thought it was only fair.”

Shaw paused for a moment. She seemed slightly annoyed at Root breaking into her room, but she rather quickly shrugged.

“Good enough reason,” Shaw said.

She paused only to block her door with a chair, before moving over to Root. She lay on her bed, leaning closer-

Root shifted away, and a flicker of irritation passed across Shaw’s face.

“Thought that was why you were here?” Shaw said.

“It is,” Root said. “Just looking at your room.”

“Well stop.”

“You’ve got flowers,” Root said, looking at a shelf on the far side of the room.

Annoyed, Shaw cast her eyes over to where Root was facing.

“You didn’t strike me as a flowers-person,” Root said.

“I’m not,” Shaw said. “Parents insist on some colour in the room.”

Root looked around. Beyond that shelf, the room was very spartan; every surface bare, every wall unadorned.

“They have a point,” Root said.

“It’s enough,” Shaw said. “I don’t spend ages staring at the walls.”

“Still.”

“Did you really just come here to criticise my décor?” Shaw said. “What happened to pissing off my parents?”

Root shifted, until she was regarding Shaw, contemplatively.

“You’re awfully keen,” Root said, moving closer.

“Just impatient.”

“That’s all?”

“ _Root_.”


	191. Can I Ask A Favour?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request for this one, was for Root and Shaw to meet in canon at a different point. Pre-series time!

Dr Sameen Shaw hurried to the emergency room, hurriedly preparing for surgery.

“Likely drug-related,” a fellow doctor was saying, behind her. “Gunshot wound, cracked costal cartilage and probable punctured lung, no sign of an exit wound. We’re prepping him for surgery now.”

“Got it,” Shaw said. “Let me know when.”

The doctor nodded, leaving the room. Shaw turned back to the sink, thoroughly washing her hands. Mentally she ran over all she could remember about treating gunshot wounds.

There was a noise behind her as someone else entered the room. Shaw glanced in the mirror over the sink, frowning; by the look of the leather jacket, it definitely wasn’t a doctor.

“Can I ask a favour?” the woman said.

Shaw stiffened. Great, a potentially fatal surgery in a few minutes, perfect time to be worrying about her soulmate; and a needy soulmate at that.

“You’re not meant to be back here,” Shaw said, curtly.

The woman raised her eyebrows. She beamed.

“Ok, that makes it easier,” she said. “Hi, I’m Root.”

“I’m busy.”

“I know,” Root said. “Checked before I got here. Dr Shaw, due to help a guy who just got wheeled into the ER. His name’s Trent Russell. Would you mind just letting him die?”

“Your sweet talk needs work,” Shaw said.

“Just saying,” Root said. “It was a lot of work arranging this in the first place, I don’t want to have to go through it all again just because someone forgot to make sure he was dead.”

Midway through pulling her gloves on, Shaw slowed. She was slowly starting to realize that her soulmate was apparently a legitimately disturbing person.

She was also starting to realize it didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should. Then again, Shaw had read the textbooks; she’d self-diagnosed her particular disorder. It wasn’t a surprise that this didn’t bother her too much.

“Any particular reason?” Shaw said, conversationally.

The playful look on Root’s face faded.

“He killed a friend of mine,” Root said. “I never had many friends-”

“Shocker.”

“-And Hanna was special. She didn’t deserve what he did to her, but he deserves this.”

“So you want me to let him die on the table?” Shaw said.

“He’s in bad condition,” Root said. “No one would blame you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to do it,” Shaw said. “What was your plan, come into the hospital and make puppy-eyes at whoever’s due to treat him?”

“Pretty much,” Root said. “Wasn’t expecting to need to do this, wasn’t prepared. Will probably have to get things done myself in future.”

Shaw sighed, continuing getting ready. Nearly done-

“Do it for your soulmate?” Root said, hopefully.

“Resorting to that, now?”

“Well, we are,” Root said. “And you can’t say you think he deserves to live.”

“If you’re telling the truth.”

“You think I’m a liar?”

“You just admitted to trying to kill someone,” Shaw said.

Root tilted her head, conceding the point.

“Besides, it’s not a matter of ‘deserves,’” Shaw said. “Doctors help. That’s it.”

Root was about to speak when someone else wandered into the room.

“Dr Shaw, we’re ready for you.”

“Got it,” Shaw said.

That would mean Trent was anaesthetized, sterilized, and as close to stabilized as he could get without surgery. She hurried out the room-

Root grabbed at her arm.

“Think about it?” Root said.

Shaw sighed, and tugged her arm away.

* * *

Wearily, Shaw came out of the operating theatre. She dimly registered Root hanging around by the edge of the room, hurrying over as soon as Shaw came out.

Of all the ways she expected to meet her soulmate, requesting a murder wasn’t one.

“How is he?” Root said.

“We did all we could,” Shaw said.

“And?”

“We got the bullet out, but the internal damage was too great,” Shaw said.

“So he’s dead?”

“He’s dead.”

“Thanks sweetie,” Root said, half-glomping Shaw in the hallway.

Well that was a new reaction.


	192. Noise Complaints 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much-requested sequel time!

Carter was still trying not to laugh. Root was a relative rookie to the force, but even so Carter had seen her around a few times.

She showed promise; not much seemed to scare her, and when a few cases had turned far riskier than anyone expected, she’d kept her cool. This was the only time she’d seen Root look at all out of her depth.

Root was sitting close next to Shaw, eyes darting around.

She seemed to have mixed feelings. Root’s expression went from appreciating her soulmate, to a bit overwhelmed. It wasn’t helped by the fact Zoe was still convinced she was a stripper.

“Think about it,” Zoe said. “It’s Shaw. What’s more likely, that her soulmate would be a police officer, or a stripper? I know where my money is.”

Even Shaw had started considering it, then. Root shot another pleading look to Carter, but Carter was fairly sure she wanted to keep out of this.

The doorbell rang. With just a bit too much eagerness, Root leapt to her feet.

“I’ll get it!”

She all but ran from the room. Zoe laughed; Shaw gulped down her drink, and poured herself another.

There was a distant sound of the door being opened, and muffled conversation.

“I’ve received some noise complaints-” a man’s voice sounded.

“I’m dealing with it,” Root said. “Don’t worry.”

She shut the door, still a little on edge. Then, taking a deep breath, Root returned to the room where the party was taking place. After casting her eyes around she chose, again, to sit by Shaw.

It was a couple of minutes before Zoe spoke up.

“Is it just me, or did she just shoo off the actual stripper?” Zoe said.

Root paused, evidently remembering that something had seemed off about the uniform. Usually more than one officer wasn’t dispatched for a minor noise complaint, anyway.

She hesitated. Grace mouthed a ‘thank you’ across to her.

“So you’re an actual police officer?” Shaw said, to Root.

“ _Yes_ ,” Root said.

“You came by for Grace’s bachelorette,” Shaw said.

“Because your music was too loud,” Root said.

Shaw paused. Carter walked over to the speakers, where a computer was plugged in.

“Told you,” she said, turning it down.

Root breathed a sigh of relief. Even if she got back later, now, at least she’d have done what she was meant to.

She shifted a little. It was still distracting to have run into her soulmate.

“Ok, that settles it,” Zoe said, slurring only slightly. “Root, start dancing.”

“I told you, I’m not-”

“We know,” Zoe said, “But you got rid of the real stripper, and you’re in the uniform, so..”

“I’m still not going to-” Root started, and paused.

She was rather aware of Shaw staring at her.

“You don’t have to-” Grace tried to say.

“Shaw wants it,” Zoe said, noticing the same thing Root had.

Shaw coughed.

“I’m not-” Root tried, again, only to sigh.

Shaw was staring. Root paused, then stood up. Zoe started to cheer, before Root left the room.

Grace gave a sigh of relief.

“Shaw?” Root called.

There was a slight pause; then Shaw ran out of the room after her.

“At least someone’s getting a dance,” Zoe said. She poured herself another drink. “Sorry it’s not you, Grace.”

“It’s… fine,” she said, still worried.


	193. Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested masseuse AU.

Ok, sure. Root knew the rules. She’d never really had cause to break them, but they were drilled into every masseuse.

When on the clock, no flirting. No inappropriate remarks; nothing to make a client feel uncomfortable. Do only what they ask for, no more, and if what they ask for goes too far report it.

The moment Sameen Shaw came in for her appointment, though, Root knew she was in trouble.

“I’ve had a bad day,” Shaw said, “No talking. Just help.”

And that confirmed it. Shaw was lying face-down on the table, with nothing on but a strategically placed towel, and Root was all too aware that, ok, that was her soulmate.

Root stared for a long few seconds. She couldn’t tell too much from just her back, but she looked pretty fit; she definitely worked out. Uncertainly, Root let her eyes drift down towards the towel.

 _The rules. Remember the rules_.

“Are you there?” Shaw said. “Sure I heard you come in.”

Root squeaked, and hurried closer.

She started the massage, doing her best not to think too much. She pressed her hands to Shaw’s back, rubbing, and feeling the tension.

Shaw moaned. Root bit her lip. This wasn’t going to be nearly as much fun as it should be.

As she worked, Root considered what she was going to say. It would have been much easier to just greet Shaw, or say something to her right at the start. Now anything was going to seem intentional.

And it wasn’t, it was just a result of her being distracted, like anyone would be.

She slowly moved her hands down, forcing the tension out of Shaw, and desperately trying to ignore the noises Shaw made.

At a certain point, she must have pushed too hard; Shaw made a sudden noise. Root lessened the force she was applying-

“Relax,” Shaw said. “Don’t mind a little pain.”

 _Remember the rules_. Damn it, that was almost too perfect an opening.

It felt like forever before the appointment was over, and Root moved away. Her gaze lingered on her soulmate for a few moments, debating whether or not the rules still applied post-slot, and whether or not it would be worth it anyway.

“Thanks,” Shaw said, breathing out.

“Feeling relaxed?” Root said.

There was a pause.

“Well not _now_ ,” Shaw said. “Are you-”

“Yep.”

Shaw hesitated.

“I’m not meant to flirt on the clock,” Root said. “It was hard, ok?”

Shaw shifted slightly, looking up just enough to regard Root. Root had the distinct feeling she was being judged.

“When do you get off?” Shaw said, eventually.

“Just before you do,” Root said. She beamed, then winced. “I tried.”


	194. Shut Up

Root normally didn’t consider herself a noisy person. Then again, her tattoo promised the first words her soulmate would say to her were _shut up_ , and who was she to deny destiny?

It did mean she could enjoy life, at any rate. There was no need to fuss over volume when listening to music or watching TV, and quite a few days she kept the window open.

Ok, there were a few cases where the police got called, but it wasn’t too bad.

Root was usually good enough at getting out of it when charges were pressed. She had her share of connections, and typically the police were concerned with more than a noise-maker.

So it wasn’t too long before Root was back at her apartment, and being a terrible neighbour all over again.

It helped matters that her less-than legal pastimes ensured she had to move around quite a bit. She only had to spend about a week in any new place before she heard first words from each of her neighbours.

Usually they weren’t quite right. The most common were “Will you shut up?” and “Quiet!” or just strings of expletives. Her closest so far had been “Shut up already!” but Root had decided against pursuing that.

Quite aside from how she disliked the look of the speaker, it was delivered all as one phrase. She’d have expected the ‘already’ to be in her tattoo as well.

So she hadn’t really had much luck.

Somewhere along the line, she decided to make a game out of it. If she wasn’t going to meet her soulmate, she might as well have fun waiting.

So when a new neighbour knocked at her window, Root turned the volume of her TV up. Root beamed out at them, getting a scowl in response.

The woman stomped away. Root turned back to the TV, vaguely amused.

About a minute later a brick went flying through the window. Root jumped, and saw a face staring at her through the shattered glass.

“Shut. Up,” the woman said, staccato.

“About time,” Root said.

The woman stiffened. Root reached for the TV remote, muting it.

“Something wrong?” Root said, happily.

“You planned this didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Root said. “Probably done serious damage to my ears, but looks like it worked out.”

The woman kept glaring through Root’s window.

“I’m Root,” Root said, eventually. “What’s your name?”

“Shaw,” the woman said.

There was a pause.

“I’m not paying for the window,” Shaw said. “You had it coming.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“I’m serious.”

“Come inside and tell me,” Root said. She smirked across. “I’ll open the door for you, you don’t have to break it.”


	195. Hello 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to almost-canon for a requested sequel!

There were discussions Shaw never wanted, or expected, to have. This was up there.

Root always had a way of distracting her; usually she did it by just being so annoying that Shaw forgot whatever else she was meant to be paying attention to.

This time was no exception.

“So, what do you think?” Root said. “Coffee date?”

“We’re not dating.”

“But we have to,” Root pouted. “You took a bullet out of me, shows you care.”

“I’ll put a bullet back in you if you don’t shut up.”

“When you’re done talking about what you want to put in me, think about it,” Root said. “You like food, so a café seems like a good setting.”

“Do you really want to antagonize the person who you keep needing to save your life?” Shaw said. “Go ahead. See how that goes next time you need surgery.”

“You’ll save me, sweetie,” Root said. “It’s destiny.”

“Damn it, _Root_ ,” she lifted her voice, “Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean I want anything more than sex, got that?”

Root fell suddenly silent. Shaw was briefly, blissfully, convinced that maybe for once she’d actually managed to make Root shut up.

Then she remembered that they were in the subway. As were Reese and Harold. And that the divide between their room and the main one was rather thin.

Shaw slumped back.

Shaw knew, intellectually, that sometime she’d have to leave her room. It wasn’t the easiest thing to convince herself of, though. Then again, Root slowly starting to smile just opposite her, was a decent motivator.

Might as well get it over with.

Shaw sighed, moving past the thin divide.

Harold coughed and looked down as soon as he saw her. Reese, meanwhile, looked as stoic as ever.

“ _You_ have a soulmate?” Reese said.

His voice was far less apathetic. How could one person be so inexpressive, when their voice sounded as though they ought to be doubled over laughing?

“Shut it,” Shaw said.

Root took that moment to wander up, laying her arm over Shaw’s shoulders. Shaw immediately grabbed it, twisting it behind Root’s back in a way that should have been painful, and should _not_ have resulted in that huge smirk she was now seeing.

“I think what Mr Reese is trying to say,” Harold said, “Is that we’re, uh, happy for you.”

“Thanks Harry,” Root said.

“Don’t you start too,” Shaw said.


	196. Look What You Did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

Shaw liked to drive. There wasn’t really much point in the city, but once she got out it was good to just sit down and drive.

As soon as the road became clearer, she accelerated. While in the city walking pace could generally keep her moving faster than the gridlocked cars, the roads outside were much less busy.

She picked up speed, soon edging past the speed limit. She so rarely had the chance to go fast.

It was hard to not be distracted by the view, as well. The world at walking pace was entirely different to the world as seen from a speeding car; details faded away, imperfections turned to blurs, and everything was constantly changing.

She glanced out of a window for just a second too long as she changed lanes, overestimating the distance to the car in front of her-

As soon as she saw it, Shaw slammed on her brakes, not quite slowing in time. A shudder went through her car, and something started rattling.

Her car started slowing without need for the brakes. Carefully, Shaw steered sideways, hoping to at least get off the road before she lost momentum. The rather dented car in front of her did the same, coming to a stop a few metres in front of Shaw.

Shaw slumped back. She’d been too distracted by the opportunity.

Well this wasn’t going to be fun. She watched through the windscreen as the woman in the car in front came out. She walked back, glanced at the damage to the back of her car, then scowled as she continued moving on to Shaw.

For a little time, Shaw debated whether or not she could just get away with not rolling her window down. By the sound of her engine, she probably couldn’t drive off, so hiding in her car was a possibility.

Then, she sighed. Might as well get it over with. She rolled her window down.

“Look what you did to my car,” the woman said, standing just past the window.

Shaw stiffened. As if this couldn’t get any worse, apparently she’d crashed into her soulmate.

Still, she hesitated for a moment. Maybe she could get some use out of those tattoos after all. She hardly wanted to pay for the damage.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Shaw said.

The woman stopped an instant before she was about to speak again. If nothing else, Shaw seemed to have distracted her from her anger.

“I’m Shaw,” she said.

“Root,” the woman said. She paused. “Are you trying to flirt your way out of this?”

“No,” Shaw said, quickly.

Root regarded her.

“Pity,” she said. “That could’ve been fun. Anyway, details-”

“You’re going to make your s-soulmate pay?” Shaw said.

She could barely get the word it. Damn it. It didn’t help how Root was looking at her; she was still far from happy, but much of her irritation had been replaced by something close to amusement.

“Thought you weren’t trying to flirt your way out?” Root said.

“I’m not.”

“Seems it,” Root said.

“It’s not flirting,” Shaw said. “Just pointing it out.”

“That we’re soulmates?” Root said. “I know that. You still damaged my car.”

Great, the only person who seemed to have a similar view on soulmates to Shaw; they were nothing special. No need for different treatment.

Which made sense, she grudgingly had to admit, if they were actual soulmates.

Theoretically, then, the way out would be to act in a way that would make her run from her soulmate.

“I’ll pay you back,” Shaw said, trying not to cringe at the words. “How about dinner?”

“You’re inviting me to dinner?”

“Well we are s-soulmates,” Shaw said. “So we should. I’d love to- get to know you.”

Root had one hand over the base of the open window; Shaw rested her on top of Root’s hoping the act worked.

Meanwhile, Root just stared at her for a few seconds. Then, suddenly, Root laughed.

“I can see your teeth grinding,” Root said. “That _can’t_ have been easy to say.”

Shaw hesitated.

“For your effort, I’ll let you off,” Root said.

Shaw sighed in relief-

“If we do have that date,” Root said.

Shaw groaned.


	197. You Started It 5

Shaw glared at the offered flowers.

“This is just getting tedious,” she said.

“You could accept them,” Root said. “That’d be new.”

Shaw sighed, and instead walked right past Root. Root lingered where she was for a few moments, arms still outstretched. Then, she turned, and hurried after Shaw, still holding the flowers.

“I’m going to choose to see this as you giving me flowers,” Root said. “Such a sweetie.”

“I’m not.”

“But they’re flowers that would have been yours,” Root said. “And instead you chose to let me have them. Seems like a gift.”

“Just sick of throwing them away,” Shaw said.

They made it to the elevator, with Root still smiling happily. She held the flowers close to her chest.

“I’m taking the stairs,” Shaw said, eventually.

Root looked at her, shocked.

“What?” Shaw said.

“But we always take the elevator,” Root said. “It’s tradition. And it was fun last time, you’ve got to admit.”

“Not nearly as much fun as it could have been,” Shaw said. “You always go for the buttons.”

“It’s romantic,” Root said. “It was how our first date went, after all.”

“One,” Shaw said. “It’s annoying, not romantic. Two, they’re not dates. None of these have been dates.”

Root pouted. Shaw waited where she was for a few seconds, facing the closed elevator doors, before turning to start for the stairs.

It didn’t take too long for Root to garb her arm, slowing her.

“Ok, what if I promise to not hit any buttons?” Root said.

“You’d need me to trust you.”

“You can always take the stairs next time,” Root said. “Besides, it’s fun, don’t you think?”

“What, standing still and waiting?” Shaw said. “Sure. Real fun.”

“The two of us. Confined space. Privacy,” Root said. She shrugged. “Fun to me.”

Shaw gave a sigh, and slowed down. After a few seconds more, she turned, not moving back to the elevator, but facing Root.

“Promise to not play that stupid game with the buttons?” Shaw said.

“Of course,” Root said, beaming. “On two conditions.”

“Here we go…”

“One, we do what we did last time,” Root said. “Not with the doors opening, but the rest of the fun stuff.”

“Well of course,” Shaw said.

That was never in doubt. Most fun you could have in an elevator, especially with Root.

“And two,” Root said, offering the flowers again, “You have to take these.”

Shaw glared. Root shook the flowers slightly, as though that were more enticing.

Shaw continued to stand where she was for a few moments. Yes, she could just go down the stairs, but that was tiring, a waste of time, and potentially less fun than an elevator ride with Root.

But she didn’t take flowers.

Then again, wasn’t like she’d be holding onto them for long.

Shaw took the flowers, and immediately walked away. She threw them in a nearer bin than her usual, before returning to Root.

“You took my flowers,” Root said, beaming.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shaw said. “Get in.”

She pushed Root, a little roughly, into the elevator, and breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind them. She had a _lot_ of frustrations to work off.


	198. Write It Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another of the historical ones that were requested. This time, it's the renaissance.

_1512_

Root scanned her eyes over the device in front of her, thoughtful.

It looked a little like a table, with a slight depression in the flat surface, and a similarly large surface attached to a hinge to the side.

Printing presses were far from a rare sight; they’d spread pretty quickly. The idea behind them had quickly captivated her, though.

Spoken words, captured in ink. She’d been vaguely aware of writing, and she knew some people could read (she’d had someone read her soulmate tattoo to her when she was younger), but it wasn’t until recently that there had been any reason for most people to acquire that skill.

More recently, though, she’d learnt, and she’d assembled her own printing press. It took time, but the idea of so much knowledge being so easily replicated amazed her.

The hardest part was to form the letters. Once they were made, though, several copies of each one, it was so easy to write up the same text, over and over.

“So, what’s your order?”

Root jumped slightly. She’d asked for the help of a local blacksmith, to forge the letters she needed to use. She was vaguely aware that there might be easier ways, but they were beyond what she could do.

She hadn’t met everyone who worked for the blacksmith though. Uncertainly, she turned to see a dark-haired woman by her door.

“Do you want me to write it down?” Root said, in a fit of playfulness. “I’ve got plenty of paper. And I can make copies easily.”

She was never going to be over just how much the invention offered. She also wasn’t going to be over the look on the woman’s face as she realized she’d just met her soulmate.

“I’m Root,” Root said.

“I know,” the woman said. She paused. “Shaw. And you wanted… letters?”

“A few extras,” Root said. “Not quite got enough for what I want to write.”

“And what do you want to write?”

“Instructions,” Root said. “How to make one of these, simplified slightly.”

“Aren’t there enough printing presses?”

“Not nearly enough,” Root said. “And I’ve made a few improvements.”

Shaw moved closer. She seemed still slightly uncomfortable by the idea of talking to her soulmate, but that didn’t stop her giving the device an interested look.

“So, going to make you rich?” Shaw said.

“What?” Root said.

“If you’re my soulmate, seems fair for me to ask if you’re going to end up rich,” Shaw said. “Inventor, then?”

“Just for this,” Root said. “I liked it.”

There were several small, rigid boxes on the floor; all were filled up, with the letters facing up. With the letters packed in the right order, sometimes with blank blocks ensuring they were rightly packed, it formed part of the device.

Root lifted one, placing it in the table’s indentation. She placed several others down, roughly filling the gap.

Then, she picked up one of the sheets of paper on the floor, sliding it carefully into the now-perpendicular hinged part of the table.

“This is one of my changes,” Root said.

She pushed an odd, square arch; there were two thin rods that went down either side of the table. When Root pushed it, it could only go over the top of the letters; between the two rods was a leather roller wet with ink, which ran over the letters and marked each of them black.

“Saves time,” Root said.

“I take it back,” Shaw said. “You’re not ending up rich.”

“Have you seen the typical kinds of press?” Root said. “You get a whole other section to press down, while this way…”

She shifted the hinged portion, closing it neatly down over the letters. It was fixed in place, with little room to smear; quickly, she pulled herself up, and sat on top of it.

“Smears a little, but it’s simpler, and about as fast,” Root said.

“You’re obsessed.”

“Yep,” Root said. “Have to be. Think about what this means; in a few minutes, I can write out the same text five different times. That’s five more people that can learn what I write. If I keep going, that’s easily hundreds of sets of instructions. Think how much knowledge gets passed on.”

Root slipped off the press, opening it to reveal a page. As she’d said, it was a slightly smeared, but easily legible, set of instructions. It wasn’t nearly formal enough to create a book or a Bible, but it was better than handwritten.

“Anyway,” Shaw said, “Stop distracting me. You had an order.”

“I distract you?” Root said, playfully.

“Stop.”

“Fine,” Root said. “Few letters need neatening, and a few things I want to write need a couple more letters of… I’ll write it down.”

Root tore a strip of paper, and dipped a thin needle of wood into the press’s available ink.

“I could write down that we’re soulmates,” Root said, after a moment. “Easy to spread that. Ought to be able to get it onto paper at least a dozen times, with the letters I have. Then just tear it up, and add another sheet-”

“No,” Shaw said.

“No?” Root pouted. “Want me to invent something better? If it’s success you want-”

“I don’t care,” Shaw said. “I just don’t want everyone going around talking about my soulmate.”

“But you don’t mind being mine, do you?” Root said.

Shaw stared at her for a few moments. Root’s fingers and legs were ink-stained, and her hair was a thorough mess. Shaw sighed.

“Could be worse.”


	199. Well This Is Awkward 3

This was, by far, the most awkward dinner Shaw had ever been a part of. Three strangers, none of which knew Shaw or Root, but apparently assumed the others did.

And Root was enjoying every second. Of course.

“So, John tells me you went to MIT, Harry,” Root said.

She was smiling; in asking that, she encouraged the lie John had been told that they knew Harold, while allowing Harold’s belief that they knew John.

“Uh, yes,” Harold said.

Having strangers at the table was always awkward, even if they were believed to be someone else’s old friends.

“So, how did you meet?” Shaw said, trying to break the silence.

“John and Harold met at work,” Grace said. “John did security for his firm. I met Harold before then; just a lucky coincidence. I was sketching the river, when he walked by.”

“You draw?” Shaw said.

“She’s very good,” Harold said.

Grace hesitated, glancing across to him, and smiled. Shaw tried not to wince; hopefully she and Root would never become that sickeningly sweet.

“And what about you two?” John said. “How did you meet?”

 _Robbing your house, screwing in your bed, and running out the window_. Shaw faltered. Something told her that explanation wouldn’t go down well.

Spotting her reaction, Root smoothly picked up the discussion, drawing attention away from Shaw.

“Met on the job,” Root said.

That time, Root was giving the cheesy, romantic smile. Shaw glared.

“What do you do?” Grace said.

“This and that,” Shaw said.

“I’m in the IT department,” Root said. “Shaw’s a bit more security-focused. Business is mostly focused on redistribution.”

“A charity?” Harold said.

“Something like that,” Root said.

Well that was one way to put it. It benefited the two of them, at least.

Shaw shot a silently incredulous look across at Root; she seemed to be enjoying the risk. Then, Shaw saw Root’s smirk. Of _course_ she was enjoying it.

“Excuse me,” Shaw said, as the meal came to an end. “I need to talk to Root for a moment.”

“What is it, sweetie?” Root said.

Shaw glared.

“Alone,” Shaw said.

Root pouted, before nodding briefly to their hosts. Shaw led the way to just inside the hall, moving out of sight of the doorway.

“We’re leaving,” Shaw said, low.

“But what about dessert?”

“I saw you take her bag,” Shaw said. “And one of his gadgets.”

“Got a gun for you, too,” Root said.

She smiled, lifting up Grace’s bag. Despite herself, Shaw peered inside.

She still wasn’t quite sure how Root had managed to walk off with the bag, right in front of Grace no less. It seemed to be just another example of the principle Root seemed to live by; if you acted as though nothing was wrong, people wouldn’t react.

It was somewhere between impressive and terrifying how much success Root had with audacity.

“Thanks,” Shaw said, after a moment. “We’re still leaving.”

“Can’t we say goodbye first?” Root said.

“Are you planning to come back?”

“Maybe,” Root said. She shrugged. “They’re nice people.”

“And they’re probably going to call the cops on us,” Shaw said.

“So?” Root said. “It’s romantic, anyway. This is the place we met, may as well keep visiting.”

Shaw sighed. Root was impossible.


	200. Nice Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the few historicals that were requested at once; a Viking AU.

The longboat was almost complete. Well, technically it was already done; certainly, it was seaworthy.

Still, Root was adding the finishing touches. The figure-head was always an important part of the ship.

It was a fairly impressive serpent; carefully, she marked out the eyes, and highlighted each individual scale. It took a lot of work, but in the end the sight was impressive.

The idea went, the figureheads were meant to protect the ships they were fitted to; they’d scare off any number of threats, leaving it to sail safely.

“Nice work,” someone said, behind her.

Root stumbled slightly. It might be arrogant to expect to hear those exact words more than once, but even so Root was slightly wary. It might not be her soulmate.

She shifted slightly, just finishing a movement down a fang, before looking back. There was a shieldmaiden walking by, regarding the woodwork.

“What’s it to you?” Root said, raising her voice slightly.

The woman paused. Root hesitated; that would seem to confirm it.

“That’ll be my ship,” the woman said. “Wanted to see how it was looking.”

“And what do you think?” Root said.

“Not bad.”

Root smirked. The shieldmaiden glared.

She looked back to her work, deciding to dedicate a bit more time to it. She adjusted the angle of the eyes, and added a few more flourishes to the pattern that made up much of the ‘neck.’

Well, if her soulmate was going to be on the vessel, it was only fair that she make it extra special. Besides, if the stories were true and this would help protect it, why not try harder?

“So, who are you?” Root said.

“Shaw.”

“I’m Root,” she said. “Like snakes?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Just wondering,” Root said.

She shifted slightly, to give Shaw a better view of the figurehead.

At the moment, the tongue ended in an ugly lump. Root considered for a moment, opting to end it in a straight fork, rather than a curled up tongue.

She was quiet for a few moment, distracted by the intricacy of the work, as some of the wood became rather thin.

“I’ll make sure it’s a good one,” Root said.

“What?”

“The ship,” Root said. She tapped the side of my snake. “If you’re going to be aboard, I’ll make sure it’s a ship you’re proud of.”

Shaw regarded her for a few moments; then her lips quirked, and she shrugged.

“Sure. Thanks.”


	201. Nice Shooting 2

Mr Groves was worried.

His daughter had always been good. She’d always had perfect grades, always worked hard, and more recently she’d been well-behaved, and barely even jaywalked.

Then there had been the incident at the mall, and the woman Samantha had named Sameen, who was apparently her soulmate.

Something had woken him up late at night. Stretching, he’d wandered to the window, sure he heard a sound; and he saw that woman standing just outside his house, throwing stones.

His first reaction had been to try and scare her off; the first time he’d seen her, she’d just shot a whole host of people. It wasn’t someone he wanted hanging around.

And then he saw his daughter climbing out through her window, already dressed. Had she _planned_ this?

Samantha certainly seemed more practised than he’d thought. She landed in the garden, and hurried over to Sameen. She kissed her, and Sameen pulled away, while still smirking to herself.

The two left. By morning, though, Samantha was back in her bed as if nothing had happened. He didn’t quite know what to make of that.

Mrs Groves, meanwhile, was a little worried by her daughter’s growing fascination with guns.

One or two, she could understand. Some people were comfortable with them as a means of self-defence; Samantha however seemed to be putting together an arsenal.

She blamed Sameen, of course. It was only since she’d come into her daughter’s life that there had been problems.

Samantha was a good daughter. She’d been a straight-A student, and was in the middle of a computing degree. She absolutely was not the kind of person who’d need an army’s worth of weapons, and went through a terrifying amount of ammunition for what Mrs Groves desperately hoped was target practise.

That was the Samantha that she knew, at least.

The neighbourhood was really going downhill, anyway. Their shopping trip, where they’d met Sameen, was hardly an isolated incident; gun fights were starting to break out more and more.

“It’s dreadful what’s happening, don’t you think Samantha?” Mrs Groves said.

Her daughter looked up from her tablet. She was typing away; likely chatting with someone. Mrs Groves hadn’t managed to get a good look at the screen, so by Samantha’s reticence she expected Samantha was talking to Sameen.

“What, mom?” Samantha said.

“The violence,” Mrs Groves said. “People are getting hurt.”

“That’s probably the idea,” Samantha said, absently.

Mrs Groves paused.

“You’ve changed,” she said, after a moment. “Ever since Sameen… I don’t like what’s happened to you.”

“What’s happened to me?” Samantha said.

“You’re… sympathizing, with her,” Mrs Groves said. “You know she’s in the news, right? Not by name, but you can tell they’re talking about her. She was in another gun fight yesterday.”

“Was she?”

“Yes,” Mrs Groves said. “Her and some other person of her ilk. Called themselves Root apparently.”

“That’s… terrible,” Samantha said, after a moment.

She glanced down at her screen, distractedly. Her expression was unreadable.

Mrs Groves sighed. Sometimes it did feel like her daughter had become a completely different person.


	202. Don't You Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for an indication of how long my prompt list gets, this one was 'Black Friday.'

Root had gotten up nice and early. There was no real way to beat the crowds on Black Friday, but getting to the shops early did help. If not by much.

There was already a queue when she arrived. Well, queue was being charitable, it seemed to have just devolved into an indistinct blob of people, with no clear beginning or end. Root took her place at a random position, and waited.

A big department store might not be the best shop to wait outside, but there were a few things Root wanted. Mostly she was getting extra bits for her computer, but there was a coffee maker on offer that she had her eye on.

May as well attempt to get all of it in one go.

When the doors opened, Root barely had to walk. The crowd surged, and she let herself get pushed inside, before pushing back as she moved to the aisle she needed. She’d checked the layout of the store beforehand.

It went well enough to begin with. At least, as well as it could.

She got the first few things on her list with a minimal amount of hand-to-hand, and only had to fight a few people to keep hold of what she had.

Then it was off to a completely different part of the store, to get the coffee maker. This bit wouldn’t be fun.

Root jostled her way through the store, getting in a few elbows and kicks, until she made it to the right aisle. Amazingly this one was briefly, blessedly empty.

There was also just one box left on the shelf. Root hurried over to it-

“Don’t you dare.”  

Root stiffened at the voice from behind her. She was already bent over, about to pick up the box.

“Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean I’m going to hand it over,” Root said.

She took the box, standing up, and turning. The woman tensed, though whether it was at Root taking the coffee maker, or at what Root had said, Root couldn’t quite say.

About three seconds after that, the woman launched herself at Root.

Root had to let go of the box to defend herself, and the woman snatched it up; so Root responded in kind. Somewhere along the line, both of them ended up on the floor.

“I _need_ coffee,” the woman said.

“I can see why,” Root said. “You seem pretty grumpy without it.”

Root got an elbow in her face for that remark. Probably fair enough.

“Can I at least get a name?” Root said, when she managed to get the woman pinned.

“Shaw,” she said, and slipped out of Root’s grasp. “Why do you care?”

“Still soulmates, sweetie,” Root said. “Might want to find one another again someday.”

“I _really_ doubt that,” Shaw said.

“You could spend the night,” Root said. “I’d make you a cup with my new coffee maker.”

“Good luck with that.”

The box ended up a few centimetres away, then. It was hard to keep a hold of it; it was too big to carry with just one hand, and each of them needed both hands to defend themselves.

Somehow they ended up in a position of simultaneously pinning one another to the floor, each of them struggling to move at all.

And, as one, they saw someone idly walk down the aisle, frown at them, and pick up the box.

Shaw scowled, shifting and releasing Root. Root pulled out of her grip, scrambling back to her feet.

“Truce?” Root said, breathlessly.

“For now,” Shaw said.

And together, they ran at the person who now held the box. They didn’t know what hit them.


	203. Here With Someone 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!  
> To celebrate, how about a kiss cam sequel?

A lot of people had their eyes on the screen displaying the kiss cam footage. It was one of the more entertaining breaks from the game.

The most memorable one so far had been a couple; the woman had looked slightly annoyed, but turned to the guy she was with-

And then the guy had been shoved out the way, and the woman behind him launched past him. That had gotten a few cheers, before the camera moved on.

It wasn’t too much longer before they were back up on the screen, though.

This time the man was turned around, and instead of facing his presumably-girlfriend, he was talking to the woman on his other side. She was rather animated; he was looking less and less enthused.

A few people in the crowd thought they read her lips, to see the word ‘soulmate.’

Then the camera cut away, again.

A mascot sat himself down on a spare chair, slightly bemused. He kept one eye on the screen, inasmuch as he could see out of the costume.

“I thought we were doing the bit, today?” he said, to the woman next to him.

She shrugged.

And then the trio were back on the screen. The man was turned to his likely now-ex, speaking quickly, even if his words weren’t recorded. She seemed less than impressed.

At the sound of some people laughing, she turned to face the screen and upon seeing herself again, scowled. She made a gesture with one hand that made the camera move on rather quickly.

The other woman, meanwhile, was grinning. She waved.

“Do you think they arranged it with those three too?” the woman said. “Might be an admin mistake.”

“I guess,” the mascot said. He paused. “They should’ve turned to us by now.”

“Unless they got distracted by that bit,” the woman said. “You… do think it’s a bit, right?”

“Has to be,” the mascot said.

The screen cut back to the trio: or rather, duo now. The man had gotten up and walked off at some point, leaving the two women behind.

The rather more cheery woman moved sideways, into the now-vacated seat. She elbowed the now probably-single woman, and gestured to the screen, puckering her lips.

It was rather easy to read her lips, then; an exasperated ‘ _again?_ ’

The cheerful woman didn’t seem at all perturbed, even when all she got was a scowl in response.

Eventually, the grumpy one managed to even out-glare the camera, and it moved on.

“I feel sorry for him if it’s not,” the mascot said.

“Those two seemed pretty happy about it,” the woman said. “One on the right particularly.”

“Yeah,” he hesitated. “You go talk to admin once this break’s over? See what happened.”

“Either they arranged two acts, or thought they were the act,” the woman said. “It’s the kind of thing we’d set up.”

“I guess.”

The camera cut back, and that time they were kissing again, rather obviously, the perkier one straddling the other. The people seated near them looked rather uncomfortable.

Not that the two even seemed to care. They ignored the cheers, neither being in a position to really see the screens.


	204. What Do You Like?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for everyone's favourite little shit!

Shaw sat by her phone. She was on the clock, so she was due a call any time now.

Phone sex might not be the most glamourous way to make a living, but a bit of extra cash didn’t go amiss; besides it could be entertaining.

Ok, it was generally tedious more than anything, going through the same generic experience for the hundredth time, but so long as she sounded suitably breathless, and injected just enough false enthusiasm, no one knew she was just playing Candy Crush on her other phone.

That was the other thing, of course; she needed two phones. There was no situation where a friend who called her wanted to hear a suddenly flirty voice on the other end; no point in getting the calls confused.

Occasionally, though, someone had a more detailed fantasy. Anything beyond the usual counted for that, really.

Her work-phone rang. Shaw took a moment to exhale, before answering.

It was just the dispatcher, to begin with, letting her know the time slot arranged. Apparently the caller wanted to be called Root.

Odd, but not the most bizarre thing Shaw had heard. Shaw sighed, sat back to make herself comfortable, and waited to be put through.

“What do you like?” Shaw said, once there was a beep.

There was a pause. She waited for a few moments more, wondering if Root had left the phone, or was just a prank caller.

“So, uh, hi?” a woman’s voice came through the phone.

Shaw stiffened. Great, that was a mood ruiner. Soulmates.

It was tempting to hang up, if not for the fact she’d been criticized for that before. If she got bored of someone, she’d ended the call prematurely several times, which wasn’t exactly encouraged behaviour.

Shaw sighed.

“Well?” Shaw said.

There was a moment of silence.

“Look, I doubt you called expecting- that,” Shaw said. “So stick to the sex. What are you after?”

“You’re just… ignoring the fact we’re-”

“Yes,” Shaw said, flatly.

There was a much longer pause.

“You’re still getting charged for the time you’re on the line doing nothing,” Shaw said. “Just a reminder.”

“Oh!”

Shaw winced. Maybe it would’ve been easier to just sit and wait it out.

“What have you got against soulmates, anyway?” Root said.

“Not my thing,” Shaw said.

“But-”

“You didn’t call me just to ask questions, did you?” Shaw said.

“Well, no-”

“Then get on with it,” Shaw said. “Seriously. What’s your fantasy?”

Sex, at least, she could deal with. She knew she was pretty good when it came to that; soulmates were an entirely different subject.

Shaw shifted, groaning a little as the silence dragged on. She rarely had to deal with people saying nothing.

“Ok,” Root’s voice came through the phone, brightly. “I’ve got one.”

“About time.”

“Picture this,” Root said. “It’s our wedding night-”

“ _Root_.”

“What?” Root said, innocently. “Can’t a girl have a romantic fantasy?”

 _Not if you’re_ my _soulmate_. Shaw scowled. It was irritatingly obvious that Root was just trying to get a reaction (and, for that matter, irritatingly successful).

“And it’s sweet, and gentle,” Root continued. She paused, thoughtfully. “I’m on top, obviously, and-”

Shaw made a strangled, annoyed sound.

“Something wrong?” Root said, sweetly.


	205. Keep Your Eyes On Me

Shaw cast her gaze across the club. Her target was at the far side, sat at a table and surrounded by bodyguards that did a passable job at blending in, and looking just like other patrons.

Shaw was fairly sure she wouldn’t be the only one who’d accepted the bounty. Assassination was more competitive a business than people thought.

She sipped at her drink, contemplating. There were a few ways to get closer to her target, so long as she didn’t do anything to blow her cover. So long as she just looked like another club-goer, those bodyguards wouldn’t pay any especial attention to her.

Which meant she ought to be subtle when it came to her glances. She looked across the club again, disguising the motion as part of her drinking.

Assassination was easy, to a point. You could kill anyone just so long as you could get close enough, and usually that wasn’t hard. The real challenge was in getting away afterwards.

She twitched one arm, letting a small plastic knife slip between her fingers. It was easier to bring that in, than it was a gun. Aimed at the right place, though, it did enough harm.

Slowly, Shaw got to her feet, feigning a little tipsiness. She staggered to the floor where people were dancing; it was a good cover.

She kept one eye open for anyone else who was probably here to kill him. Though there was competitiveness, it took a little more for killers to actively sabotage one another. They had enough problems; often they would help one another for anything short of taking out a target, being owed a favour didn’t go amiss.

Shaw neared her target, careful to seen inconspicuous. It didn’t seem as though any of the bodyguards were watching her, but there was always an element of risk; there might be another guard she hadn’t noticed, or who’d taken steps to conceal themselves.

And if that was the case, someone could be closing in on her without her noticing.

Suddenly, a woman was in front of her, a playful smile on her face, moving rather close to Shaw.

“Just keep your eyes on me,” she said.

Shaw stiffened. Had she been made? Quickly, Shaw tried to make herself look relaxed, following the woman’s lead, and keeping in front of her, swaying to the music and keeping her gaze focused on the stranger, rather than her target.

First, allay suspicion. Then she could get back to what she was doing.

“Thanks,” Shaw said, curtly.

“Sure you can make it up to me,” the woman said. “I’m Root.”

“Shaw.”

Root beamed.

Shaw tried to echo her movements; a lot of people were dancing, and it’d probably help if it looked like they were dancing together.

Curiously, Shaw regarded Root. Whoever she was, she’d done a good job of blending in; Shaw hadn’t thought of her as anyone notable. And, ok, the soulmate thing was annoying, but it was probably better than getting caught.

“Glad I ran into you,” Root said.

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Likewise,” Shaw said. Advance warning never hurt. “Even if there’s on bit I’m not so fond of.”

“There is?” Root tilted her head.

Shaw moved, tapping a spot just over Root’s heart, and playing the movement off as part of a dance. Root glanced down, to where her soulmate tattoo was.

“Not a fan, then?” Root said.

Shaw shrugged.

“Anyway,” Shaw said, not wanting to linger on that topic, “Are they still watching?”

Root blinked. “Are _who_ still watching?”

“You know,” Shaw said.

“I do?” Root said.

“The-” Shaw began, and paused.

Her gaze flitted over Root’s shoulder, to where her target still seemed to be relaxing.

“You told me to keep my eyes on you,” Shaw said.

“You looked cute,” Root said. “I wanted a dance. Why? What did you-”

Oh, great.

“Never mind,” Shaw said. “I have to go.”

She darted sideways, to move around Root, when Root grabbed her wrist. She scribbled something quickly on Shaw’s hand.

“Well, have fun,” Root said. “Any particular reason you think people are watching you? Consider me intrigued.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, and pulled away.


	206. Cinnamon Roll 4

Root enjoyed shopping. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; it had been a few years before she’d gotten into it. Ok, she bought practicalities, and a few decorations, but that had been more from necessity than enjoyment.

Since Shaw had moved in, though, she had definitely begun to see the appeal.

Particularly when it came to lava lamps and bunny slippers; Shaw’s reaction was downright adorable, not that she’d ever say that to Shaw’s face. She had a vague sense of self-preservation, after all.

“What do you think?” Root said, lifting up a teddy from a shelf they were passing.

“No.”

Root moved the bear in front of her face, looking at Shaw pleadingly.

“Still no,” Shaw said.

Root pouted, putting it back. She slowed for a few seconds though, regarding it.

“It looks a little like you, don’t you think?” Root said. “Bit scowly. Small. Kinda cute.”

“ _No_ ,” Shaw said, again.

Reluctantly, Root continued moving through the shop. Shaw trailed behind her, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She didn’t want to scowl at any of the other decorations around the shop; Root seemed to use her irritation as an incentive to hurry closer to whatever she was looking at.

So if she didn’t react, hopefully they’d be out of there sooner.

And keeping her eyes fixed forwards, to where Root was walking ahead of her, did at least remind her why she was putting up with this.

“By the way, we’ve been followed for the last three aisles,” Shaw said.

“You noticed that huh?” Root said.

“Of _course_ I noticed it,” Shaw said. “Why?”

“Can’t be sure,” Root said. She hesitated. “They might work for Elias. Was hired to take out a couple of people in his operation. Surprised you didn’t take that contract.”

“I don’t go looking for trouble,” Shaw said. Trust Root to make an enemy of a gang.

“Sure, sure,” Root said, sceptically. “That’s my guess for them at least. What’s your count?”

“Four of them,” Shaw said. “Three in other aisles, one taking point.”

“Sounds about right,” Root said. She paused. “In five.”

That was something. They were trying to get to a quieter area; they had ties to a crime boss, so if they were in any suspicious circumstances they’d have troubles. They couldn’t be witnessed involved in anything.

Root and Shaw meanwhile were relatively freelance; they didn’t have the same problems. They couldn’t be made to testify against anyone, and even if they were people of interest, they couldn’t be kept for long.

Of the group sent after them, it would be too obvious if four people crowded together. They were split up, spread between aisles, glimpsing and signalling to one another when they moved through the gaps between aisles.

Root and Shaw, meanwhile, were in almost the exact midpoint of a block of shelves. It would give them more time before the other three entered the fray.

If there were only three others. It was hard to be sure.

Five seconds later, Root turned and shot once, and the most obvious aggressor fell to the floor. The first shot was the trigger; some people, even those that couldn’t see what had happened, began to scream.

Root crouched down, gesturing; Shaw rolled her eyes, but moved closer, until she was almost in a position for Root to give her a piggyback. With a grunt, Root stood up.

Now with her head and shoulders over the tall shelves, Shaw scanned their surroundings for the three she’d spotted following them before. Three shots later, and she was done.

“Could get used to this,” Root murmured, Shaw’s legs on her shoulders, either side of her head.

Shaw rolled her eyes, and pushed herself off, landing neatly on the ground. It took her a few seconds to regain her breath.

And in that time Root had already spotted more bunny slippers. She ran over to them, picking them up, and turning.

“These are your size, right?” Root said.

Shaw rolled her eyes. Sometimes she really didn’t know why she put up with Root-

Root lifted her gun and fired. Shaw didn’t jump, looking back to see a fifth person fall. Apparently they hadn’t spotted everyone.

Slowly, Shaw turned to face Root again. She still had the same grin, an odd half-smile on her face, apparently not all that bothered by the fact she’d just killed someone.

Ok, Shaw reflected. _That_ was why she put up with Root.


	207. Sneak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request time!

_1951_

No men allowed. It wasn’t Shaw’s biggest concern, but it was a slight irritation when it came to passing the time. There weren’t too many good apartments available, though, so she could live with the rules.

Plus, the meals more or less made up for it. They were served in a fairly large room, where most of the women ate.

Technically people were only meant to eat in that one room, but there was pretty much a trade in whatever people could get out. It was good stuff, after all.

Shaw liked eating there. Even if she wasn’t the biggest fan of socializing, there was food, and it let her survey who was staying. There were often some new faces; it was good to keep track of the new tenants.

Such as when a stranger, a presumable newcomer, sat herself down beside Shaw.

“Know anyone who can sneak one of the rolls out?” Root said. “Had a craving for one yesterday, and couldn’t find it.”

Well that figured.

Shaw snorted to herself. Ok, she didn’t like the idea of having a soulmate, but there was something vaguely amusing about running into her in a no-men-allowed boarding house.

“Try Harper,” Shaw said, gesturing. “She smuggles out almost everything.”

“Thanks for the tip,” the woman said. She tilted her head. “I’m Root.”

“Shaw. And not interested.”

“Not interested in what?” Root said.

“In whatever’s got you offering your name,” Shaw said.

“Even if we’re soulmates?”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Even then,” she said.

“Pity,” Root said. “Thought it was kinda fun. All the sex, and you don’t have to sneak me out the window to avoid getting caught.”

Shaw paused. Well it was almost tempting if she put it like that.

It was just a question of which had more disadvantages; the limitations of the house, or actually putting up with her soulmate.

Root gulped at her drink, licking her lips rather lasciviously as she put the glass down. She met Shaw’s eyes; it was more cartoonish than seductive, but even so.

“Room 36,” Shaw said, after a moment.

Root beamed.

* * *

Someone was knocking on Shaw’s door, rather insistently. Shaw groaned a little, stretching, and extricating herself from the bed. They were _still_ knocking.

Shaw stumbled over, opening the door, to see the landlady standing there. She looked mildly apoplectic.

“Miss Shaw,” she said. “The terms of staying here are very clear, I thought-”

“Mm?” Shaw said, wearily. “What rule have I broken now?”

The landlady blinked.

“We _all_ heard,” she said, and then hesitated. Apparently her prudishness extended to even mentioning what had gone on.

“Nothing in the contract against that,” Shaw said. “I checked. Only men, and I can promise you there’s no man in here.”

Root stuck her head around the corner, curious as to what was taking so long. She waved.

“Shaw,” Root wheedled. “Get back here.”

“Are we done?” Shaw said, to the landlady, with a sigh. “She’s a bit demanding.”

“Hey!”


	208. Good To See You 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to the story with deaf Root.   
> There'll be three more ficlets before this collection comes to a close.

Root made a gesture in the air, a little more slowly than she might usually. Shaw watched carefully.

Her ASL was still fairly far from fluent. She knew a few common phrases, and could generally puzzle out signs that she saw, but she couldn’t replicate a lot of them offhand.

To make things easier, Root was teaching her. Shaw frowned, quickly writing something down on Root’s pad of paper. They still passed notes in the mean time, so they could still communicate.

_That seems a fairly long sign to just say ‘how are you.’_

Root glanced at the note, looked over to Shaw, and shrugged.

Shaw sighed, before making a sign she had learned. Their priority, initially, had been learning the things Shaw might want to say during their lessons; faster, slower, Root, do that again…

(Of course, Root had quipped something about other uses for those words).

They met at the coffee shop most days, now. They’d been to other places, but by now it was routine to run into one another there. Most of their exchanges happened at one of those tables.

When Shaw was confident she had one sign memorized, they moved on.

Root made a sudden gesture, not unlike a thumbs-up. Shaw blinked, and noted down again.

_What’s that?_

Root beamed, taking the paper to write something else.

‘ _Girlfriend.’_

Shaw rolled her eyes. Of course.

‘As in’ Root mouthed, and signed out a sentence. Shaw could just about piece that one together; ‘This is Root, my girlfriend.’

 _Not happening_ Shaw wrote. Root pouted.

Still, Shaw made a mental note of the sign. Something was bothering her.

They stayed for another drink or so, but then Shaw had to leave. Still, they’d arranged to meet again the next day.

It was easy to settle into the routine. Shaw wandered into the shop, and Root was already seated at their usual table. Shaw picked up her drink, and sat down.

Root’s pen and paper were already on the table. Shaw reached over for them, wrote something down, and handed it back to Root. Shaw was scowling slightly.

_I looked up that sign you said meant girlfriend. Apparently a better translation would be ‘mistress.’_

Root scanned the paper without the slightest change in expression. Then she looked across to Shaw, seemingly innocent.

Shaw raised her eyebrows. She quickly scribbled something else down.

_And that long sign DIDN’T mean ‘how are you.’_

Root continued looking at her innocently. Shaw groaned.

Then, slowly, Root reached for the paper. When she was done, she handed it back:

 _I taught you what you’d need to say_.

“I’d never need to say that you’re-” Shaw began, the words bursting out of her, before realizing the problem.

Well, it wasn’t like she wanted to finish that particular sentence where people could overhear. Root had snuck in a surprising number of… interesting phrases into their lessons.

Instead, Shaw reached for the paper, writing down what it was she was going to say.

Root seemed to already have a response.

_Are you sure?_

Shaw glared.


	209. Ballet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request this time was for Ballerina Root.

Dr Shaw wandered into her office. She was there for maybe two or three seconds before she took in the costume of the person waiting for her. She blinked.

She had a few odd patients, sure. None had come in quite so fancy a costume though; flared-out white skirt, a feathered headband, pale tights…

“Who are you meant to be?” Shaw said, flatly.

The woman jumped.

“Didn’t you know the ballet was in town?” the woman said. She gestured at her outfit; “Get many swans in otherwise?”

“You don’t look anything like a swan,” Shaw said.

“It’s stylized,” the woman shrugged.

Great, her soulmate made a living by dressing up as animals. There was probably a word for that. Doing her best to ignore the fact she’d heard her tattoo, Shaw approached.

“What’s the problem?” Shaw said.

“Bit of muscle pain,” the woman said. “I can’t afford to lose more than a couple of days of practise, so I was hoping…”

“Where is it?” Shaw said.

The woman shifted, idly bringing one leg up onto the chair next to her while the other remained on the floor. Shaw stared for a moment. Ok, flexible. Good to know.

The woman gestured at a point on her upper thigh. Shaw blinked.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Shaw said, getting closer.

“Root,” she said.

“Ok, Root,” Shaw said. “Tell me when it hurts.”

“Ooh, say that again,” Root said.

Shaw glared. She touched her hand to the point Root was complaining about, pressing a little harder. When Root whimpered, she kept her hand there for a couple more seconds, just out of spite.

“I don’t think it’s serious,” Shaw said. “You probably just pushed yourself too hard. Rest for two days, then ease yourself back into it. If it still hurts, come back.”

Shaw tried to pull her gaze back up to Root’s face. The ballerina was smirking.

“That it?” Root said.

“Apply an ice pack, don’t use it,” Shaw said. She shrugged. “I imagine you’ve had a few pulled muscles before, can’t be new.”

“Just wanted to be sure,” Root said. She paused. “So we’re not going to talk about it?”

“About what?” Shaw said. “I gave you my advice.”

“About the fact you jumped out of your skin as soon as I spoke to you,” Root said. “Or how you’re staring at my legs.”

“You asked me to do that,” Shaw said.

“Not with quite that much… enthusiasm,” Root said.

Shaw glared.

“Want a ticket?” Root said.

“No,” Shaw said.

Root pouted.

“Watching people dress up in stupid costumes and jump around isn’t my idea of fun,” Shaw said.

“They’re not all stupid costumes,” Root said. “You should see me in black, that one looks _good-_ ”

“Still not my idea of a good time,” Shaw said.

“Does your idea of a good time involve any costumes at all, though?” Root said. “I’m really hoping it does.”

“Seriously?”

“What?” Root said. “Seems like a valid question.”


	210. Hier, Braaf, Voor Uit

Root was baffled by her tattoo.

There was the fact it wasn’t in English, for one. Most soulmates tended to have a common language, or at least have some language they could easily converse it.

It wasn’t a general rule, and other-language tattoos were far from unheard of, but even so people could usually only be soulmates if they could talk to one another.

So a tattoo in Dutch, as it turned out hers was, was a bit surprising.

Even more so was the translation. It roughly seemed to mean ‘Come here, good, now go on ahead,’ which may as well have been meaningless. Root couldn’t think of anything that would cause someone to say that to her, much less say it in Dutch.

There was always the chance that she just overheard her soulmate talking to someone else, of course, but even that didn’t really make sense out of it.

So, in general, Root tried to ignore it. There wasn’t much to be done with gibberish.

She was just idly walking down a street when she heard a woman’s voice.

“Hier! Braaf.”

Root paused, looking around quickly. She followed the sound, and turned a corner, to see a woman crouched by a rather large dog, scratching his neck. Slowly, she stood up.

“Voor uit,” she said, less firmly, and the dog started ambling along a few steps ahead of her.

They were heading for Root; Root took a few moments to stare. Ok, that explained it at least.

“A dog?” Root said, flatly, as the woman neared.

The woman came to a sudden stop. The dog wandered on a few steps, before glancing back, turning around, and hurrying back to them. He tugged slightly on the woman’s leg.

“Blijf,” the woman said, absently.

The dog immediately moved back, and stayed still.

“You wouldn’t believe how much those words were confusing me,” Root said. “Of _course_ you were talking to your dog. That makes more sense.”

The woman was still staring at her, less than happily. Root tensed.

“You do speak English right?” Root said. “I mean, I assumed- but if you were talking to him in…”

“I do,” the woman said. “He doesn’t,” she gestured to the dog.

Then, she winced.

“Pretend I don’t,” the woman said, then. “It’ll make it easier when I walk away.”

“You’re leaving?” Root pouted.

“Definitely, now,” the woman said.

“Can I go with you?” Root said.

“No.”

“Can I at least know your name?”

“Shaw.”

“And his?” Root said.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Bear.”

The dog perked up at his name, sitting up sharply. His tongue lolled out slightly; Shaw scratched his head absently.

“Can I pet him?” Root said.

“No,” Shaw said, flatly.

With that, Shaw started walking away. Evidently she was one of those people who weren’t particularly excited about their soulmates.

“Bear, hier!” she said, her back to the both of them.

It was a good few seconds before she slowed at the lack of sound. She turned, only to see Root crouched by him, scratching his neck and back.

He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. And he was normally so obedient. Shaw glared.

“Hier!”

Root kept scratching. Bear looked pleadingly over to Shaw.

Then, Shaw sighed.

“ _Fine_ , Root,” Shaw said. “Come on then. Keep him company.”


	211. End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those that read and enjoyed and commented and kudosed and bookmarked any anythinged this collection, I had no idea it would go on quite this long, but hopefully you've had as much fun as I have.   
> Time to finish with some philosophical Root.

“Let’s end this.”

“Good luck with that.”

That had been a couple of months ago.

Probably more competitive a meeting than most people had, but it worked for the two of them. Root was fairly sure that saying her tattoo had made Shaw all the more eager to start shooting.

It worked out in the end though. They’d been at odds initially, working for opposed organizations, but it hadn’t lasted.

So, somehow, they were kind of on the same side now. Root wasn’t particularly used to that. Shaw seemed even _less_ used to it.

But they hadn’t gone back to fighting. Well, there was some violence, but only in a strictly enjoyable fashion.

“Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you,” Shaw said, after one of Root’s more annoying moments.

Root had the biggest grin on her face as she slipped herself down onto the sofa, next to Shaw. She rested an arm over Shaw’s shoulders; Shaw rolled her eyes at the touchy-feeliness, but didn’t pull away.

“Destiny, sweetie,” Root said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’ve seen your tattoo,” Root said. “Don’t forget. I know we’re soulmates.”

“And you know I don’t care.”

“But you’re still here,” Root said.

“Because, _occasionally_ , you’re bearable,” Shaw said.

“Basically a declaration of undying love, from you,” Root said. She beamed. “Thanks, sweetie.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Kind of amazing though, if you think about it,” Root said.

“ _Please_ don’t get metaphysical again,” Shaw said. “I’m still trying to work out what that whole ‘you’re a shape’ thing was about.”

“Of everyone in the world,” Root said, ignoring her. “Literally, everyone, the person you’d get on with the most was me, and the person I’d like the most was you. Billions of people, and that’s how it came out.”

Shaw paused for a moment. Ok, put like that, it was almost impressive.

And, all things considered, Root _was_ more bearable than a lot of the people she’d met. Not many could get away with the things she pulled.

“But, you know what they say about the tattoos?” Root said. “There are other universes, countless others with countless changes, run again and again until there’s a world where everyone meets their soulmate, and has time with them. Always loved the idea of a multiverse.”

“An infinite variety of universes, where everything happens,” Shaw said, dully.

Root glanced across to her, surprised.

“What?” Shaw said. “You ramble about it enough. I do listen.”

Ok, fair point. Root smirked.

“I’ve never really agreed with that,” Root said, conversationally. “The idea that everything will happen in some universe or other.”

“Isn’t that a given?”

“Not really,” Root said. “It’s like pi; people think every string of numbers is contained in it, just because it’s endless and non-repeating. But you could type out all of pi in binary, say; replace every number with 0s and 1s. That wouldn’t repeat, any more than pi does, and it doesn’t contain every sequence of numbers. Misses everything with any number that isn’t a 0 or 1. An infinite number of things could happen, and there might be an infinite number of possible universes, but still.”

Shaw slumped back.

“Like,” Root said, “There’s never going to be a universe where you kill me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Shaw said.

“But that’s how it works,” Root said, a little excitedly. “There’s never going to be a universe where something impossible happens, so long as it’s impossible by the rules of that universe. And if the rules of that universe are different, then everything _in_ that universe is different.”

“Is this going anywhere?”

“Imagine us in another universe,” Root said. “We might live different lives. Maybe you’d be, ooh, I’m thinking pirate, that’d be a good look on you. And maybe I’d be too. But we’d still meet, still be soulmates, still end up together.”

“Unless I made you walk the plank,” Shaw said.

“If you had the authority. What makes you think you’d be captain?” Root said.

“Oh, I’d be captain.”

“I doubt it,” Root said.

“That a challenge?” Shaw said.

“Maybe,” Root smirked. “But, anyway, you wouldn’t.”

“Don’t push me.”

“No, really, you wouldn’t,” Root said. “We’re soulmates, in every universe and in every story. If you did that, then you wouldn’t be you, and I wouldn’t be me, because I’m not dying so anticlimactically. Not nearly enough fun.”

Shaw snorted to herself.

“So, what do you think?” Root said. “I like it. Every time you’re you, and every time I’m me, we’ll end up together.”

“It makes more sense than your usual, I’ll give you that,” Shaw said.

“Still annoyed about the shapes?” Root said.

“Yes.”

“I was basically just saying you had a great ass,” Root said, absently. “That’s it.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Shaw said. She sighed, wearily, only to chuckle. “One of these days you might actually manage something profound.”

“A profoundly great ass?” Root offered.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Shaw said. She shrugged. “What was that whole other universes speech then?”

“Your ass wouldn’t be better in any other world,” Root said. “Stands to reason. It’s the best of all the-”

“Can you _please_ stop talking about my ass?”

Root pouted. Shaw snorted, despite herself.

“You’re something else, Root,” Shaw said.

“Something good, or something bad?” Root said.

Shaw shifted, regarding her for a few seconds.

“Not entirely sure,” Shaw said.


End file.
